


The Story of Us

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mollcroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 31,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No word could adequately describe the relationship between Mycroft and Molly.<br/>The two were not friends. Mycroft and Molly had known each other for years and were pleasant to each other when their paths crossed, both with and without Sherlock present, but the term “friend” implies casual conversations over tea or coffee, perhaps the occasional meal, or the offer of a spare cinema ticket when the original companion’s schedule changed at the last moment.</p><p>It’s always better to have a friend go with you than the ticket wasted.</p><p>None of these things ever happened between Mycroft and Molly.</p><p>While the term acquaintance, probably most appropriate --- Mycroft was Sherlock’s brother. Molly was Sherlock’s friend. That would imply that Mycroft was Molly acquaintance -- didn’t carry enough weight when coupled with the truth that Molly had saved Mycroft’s brother three times and killed him once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own these characters. This work is purely for entertainment.

During one of Mycroft’s first visits to his brother’s new flat at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock excitedly told him about the new “resource” at Bart’s who had an excellent lab and access to the morgue.

As was usual when Sherlock indicated that someone “new” had entered his life, Mycroft did a cursory background check on them. Molly Hooper was no different. Mycroft didn’t find anything of any of interest so labelled her in his mind as harmless. 

Soon after Molly’s background checks had been done, Mycroft accompanied his brother to the morgue. Shortly after Sherlock had begun to examine the corpse laid out on the metal table in front of them Sherlock’s phone rang and he excused himself, leaving Mycroft alone with Molly. Mycroft had a knowing look on his face as he watched his brother go.

Not wasting any time Mycroft looked Molly straight in the eye.

“My little brother can get himself into the most awful predicaments,” Mycroft and Molly were standing on either side of a body that had just been pulled out of the Thames. The stench of waterlogged flesh hung in the air.

Holding her gaze he took a card out of his pocket. “I do so worry about him. It would be much appreciated if you would alert me to anything you think I should know.” Mycroft handed her the card over the corpse of poor Mr. Stevenson. 

Molly took the card and could only manage a meek, “Okay.”

“Good day Dr. Hooper.” Molly then watched as Mycroft left the Morgue. She could hear his umbrella tapping on the floor as he walked down the corridor to the hospital exit.

After the tap of the umbrella had disappeared Molly examined the business card in her hand. It was cream coloured and the only thing printed on it was a mobile number. Written in elegant script above the number were the words “Any time. Day or night.”

Molly walked into her office and slid the card into her bag.

Later that evening when she was at home alone thinking about her day Molly would remember the card and Sherlock’s slightly odd brother. Molly put the card in the drawer of her bedside table after programming the number into her phone.


	2. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Molly saves Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a doctor and I don't play one on TV. All the medical stuff is made up!

The first time it was Molly who sounded the alarm. Mycroft received a text message from her at 3:28pm on a Monday afternoon. [SMS: I’m worried. Where is Sherlock? – Molly]

Mycroft texted back almost instantly: [SMS: Leave it with me - MH]

It was nearly three days before Mycroft texted again.

Thursday 1:35am: [Come. Please. I’ve found him. – MH]

There was an immediate reply: [SMS: I’ll be outside in 5 minutes. -- Molly]

The speed in which she responded indicated to Mycroft Molly had kept her phone close since she sent him the original text, and as a doctor she was used to waking up and being fully alert in seconds.

Mycroft had kept his text vague on purpose. He wanted to see what this “friend” of Sherlock’s was made of. Sherlock was lying in the guest room in bad shape, but Mycroft had seen Sherlock in far worse condition. Mycroft was worried but not scared. In many ways it was the perfect test.

Mycroft checked the CCTV camera outside Molly’s house.

Molly was waiting outside her flat before Mycroft’s sleek black car had even arrived.

So far so good Dr. Hooper. Mycroft smiled to himself and then returned to nervous pacing once he knew she was safely in the back of his car and on her way.

Hearing his car pull into the driveway, Mycroft opened the door of his house and Molly simply asked, “Where is he?” as she walked into the foyer.

Mycroft looked at Molly as she stood before him in her baggy coat and shoulder bag that dwarfed her. Molly had been in bed. He could still smell the sleep on her despite the recently brushed teeth. She was wearing fresh clothes as they were not the ones he saw her in yesterday when he checked the CCTV cameras focused on her lab. Her face conveyed concern, not yet worry. No tears.

Mycroft silently led Molly up the stairs and opened the door to the guestroom where Sherlock lay on the bed.

Molly instantly sprinted across the room leaving Mycroft simply staring with his mouth having fallen open in shock.

Sherlock’s lips were blue and he was making horrible gargling noises. Mycroft watched as Molly yanked Sherlock off the bed with a strength that surprised Mycorft. Molly was smoothly rolling Sherlock onto his side while digging into her bag for an absorbent pad that, once found, she placed under his face to catch the vomit now coming out of Sherlock’s mouth.

“He was choking on his vomit,” the words came from Molly as more of an explanation than anything else.

Mycroft was frozen. Suddenly he was scared. This was no longer an innocent test. His brother really could have just died in his house, under his nose without Mycroft realising it.

Once his airway was clear Sherlock, although still unconscious, started to cough and gasp. The colour soon returned to his face. Molly wrapped up the vomit soaked pad and put it in a rubbish bag, also retrieved from her bag, and put another fresh pad under Sherlock’s head.

Molly was quietly talking to no one in particular the entire time.  She was providing a running commentary on exactly what she was doing. Her mood was slightly softer than professional but her composure remained intact despite the fact that she had just found her junkie friend about to be asphyxiated by his own vomit.

Even the Ice Man was impressed. It had all happened so fast he was still frozen to the spot his hand on the door knob.

“What do you need?” Mycroft was finally was able to say after Sherlock was human colour once again.

“A few towels, and warm wet cloths and put some water on to boil. Thanks.” Molly responded but didn’t look up.

Mycroft dispatched two people waiting outside the room to get what Molly had asked for. He then tentatively walked into the room and sat on the chair near the bed watching Molly work.

The initial panic over Molly had taken various bits of medical kit out of her enormous bag and was currently using a stethoscope to check Sherlock’s lungs.

“No gurgling which is good. I must have caught him just in time.”

Mycroft was thankful for Molly's talking although he knew it wasn’t directed specifically at him or for his own benefit.

 Molly ran her hands over Sherlock’s body checking for broken bones or other injuries. Finding none she again reached in her bag and pulled out a needle. She drew some blood and began putting drops in tiny vials and on litmus papers.

She let out a sigh and explained her findings. No alcohol, three different drugs. He hadn’t overdosed but he was close and he would be as high as a kite for quite some time.

With this news the tension in the room slightly eased.

The towels she had asked for were brought to her and she rolled them up and used them as props to make sure Sherlock stayed in the correct position. Molly then used the warm wet cloths to wipe Sherlock’s face and hands.  She then handed the used wet towels back to the person who brougnht them in and instructed them to be sure to boil these items before putting them into the regular wash.

Molly had been sitting on the floor bending over Sherlock and she now sat up, her hands on her knees. For the first time since he opened the front door for her Molly looked at Mycroft who was now slumped in the chair next to the bed. She frowned, “Are you okay?” Molly put her hand on Mycroft’s wrist.

She was touching him and taking his pulse. Why was she doing that? Mycoft wondered. His head was suddenly all fuzzy. Molly put her hand on his forehead.

“You haven’t eaten properly for days have you.” 

A weak, “No” was his reply.

Molly sighed and once again dug in her bag. She pulled out a tube and took out a large flat disk, poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table and dropped the disk in. Immediately the water began to fizz.

Mycroft watched her with a frown on his face.

Molly got up and went to the door. He could hear her talking to someone in the hallway but he couldn’t make his ears focus on what they were saying.

When she got back the tablet had dissolved and she handed the glass to Mycroft. He simply sat there and continued to frown at her -- untrusting.

“Drink this. I don’t need two patients tonight,” Molly said with a hint of a smile. “It’s just fizzy vitamins. You’ll feel better.”

Mycroft did as he was told and drank the strange coloured liquid.  He handed her back the glass without saying a word.

Molly went back to making sure Sherlock was okay.

Soon there was a soft knock at the door.

“Dinner’s ready,” Molly said to Mycroft cheerily. “Come in,” she called louder and a tray with two plates of scrambled eggs, broccoli, buttered toast and some grapes was brought in and set on the table near the window. Two cups of tea followed.

Mycoft’s stomach growled as soon as he smelled the food.

“Go on. Eat. I’ll be right over”. Mycroft got up wearily and went over to the table and began to eat.

“You are very good at taking care of everyone else but not so good at taking care of yourself.” commented Molly as she sat down and started to eat. Mycroft had already finished his food. He was looking much better.

“You are very astute Miss Hooper,” Mycroft gave her a wye smile.

“How often do you have to do this?” Molly looked over at Sherlock who was still passed out.

“Whenever it is necessary,” Mycroft replied briskly.

“Does he know you are his guardian angel?”

“I doubt it. He seems to remember little from these dark and dank episodes. At some point I shall have him returned to his bed where he will wake up and continue on with his so called life until the next episode.”

Molly finished her food giving her last few grapes and half a piece of toast to Mycroft.

Outside dawn was breaking. The birds were up and the first rays of morning light were just peeking through the edges of the curtains. Molly checked on Sherlock once more and began to gather her things.

“He is just sleeping now,” she told Mycroft. “I don’t think you need me here anymore.”

“Oh. Of course.” Molly’s leaving seemed to take Mycroft by surprise. “My car will take you home.”

Mycroft walked Molly to the front door. He helped her on with her coat and then took an envelope off a near table.

“Thank you, Miss Hooper, for everything tonight. I am sure this will be more than adequate compensation for your disrupted sleep.” Mycroft held out the envelope to Molly. It was cream coloured, the same as the card he had handed her months ago. Molly guessed that inside the very thin envelope was a cheque made out to her for a very large amount.

Molly gave Mycroft a soft smile. “You don’t have many friends do you?”

“Miss Hooper I don’t have any friends.”

Molly simply smiled at Mycroft, turned around and walked out the open front door leaving him standing there still holding the envelope out for her.

 


	3. The Second Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft stood gasping, surveying the scene in front of him.
> 
> “I came … as… fast … as …. I …. could…" he panted, trying to catch his breath. “Is … he ….?”
> 
> “Nearly dead? Yes.” Molly, who was doing chest compressions on Sherlock, looked up at Mycroft for a fraction of a second. “You need to leave. This might not work.”

Mycroft opened the door and got out even before his car had made a full stop. He flew through his front door and raced up the stairs two at a time. Mycroft then burst into his guest room.

“Welcome home.” Molly didn’t bother to look up.

Mycroft stood gasping, surveying the scene in front of him.

“I came … as… fast … as …. I …. could…" he panted, trying to catch his breath. “Is … he ….?”

“Nearly dead? Yes.” Molly, who was doing chest compressions on Sherlock, looked up at Mycroft for a fraction of a second. “You need to leave. This might not work.”

“But … I …”

“Go” Molly didn’t shout and somehow this made it worse. 

Mycroft could feel Anthea behind him. He was only vaguely aware that her cool hand was holding his elbow, gently pulling him out of the room where his brother lay on an ambulance gurney. Where Molly and one of the medics who had retrieved Sherlock were -- keeping Sherlock alive ...or bringing him back or .... just about to lose him.

Anthea slowly walked down the stairs not letting go of Mycrofts elbow and steered him into his Study.

She poured him a drink and held it out to him as he sat in the leather arm chair staring ahead at nothing, unblinking.

“He’s in good hands. I’ve watched her all afternoon. She is doing her best.” Anthea spoke quietly as she stood next to the chair.

Mycroft sighed as he replayed the last conversation he and Sherlock had. The horrible things he had said to him. It was Mycroft’s fault. He had brought up ancient history just to cause Sherlock pain. (Oh Sherlock, you are having the last laugh aren’t you?)

Anthea, quietly slipped out of the Study and went back upstairs in case she was needed. 

//  
It was two hours before Molly appeared in front of Mycroft.

He was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands when Molly walked in. Seeing her made Mycroft automatically stand -- just like people do on TV when a doctor comes in to deliver news. He looked at her expectantly. 

Molly gave him a small smile and a small nod. "He's not completely out of the woods yet but he is stable for now."

Relief flooded Mycroft. He closed his eyes and inhaled. He hadn't realised he had been holding his breath since Molly walked into the room. A whispered "Thank You" escaped his lips. 

When Mycroft opened his eyes he looked at Molly. Her face was flushed and bits of hair were stuck to her face with sweat. She looked exhausted and her eyes were still filled with concern. 

"Your superiors have been told your services are needed elsewhere at the moment. This absence will not count against your pay or your holiday allocation." He delivered this information in a quiet measured tone. 

Molly just looked at Mycroft. She was tired and didn't fully understand how this could be possible, but was quite relieved at the news. She let out a sigh and Mycroft saw her mood lift ever-so slightly. 

"May I see him?"

Molly led Mycroft up his staircase. Before they reached the room where Sherlock lay, Mycroft stopped and gestured to a door across the hall that was slightly open. 

"I have taken the liberty of having a few of your things collected from your flat -- to make your stay, until this crisis is resolved, more comfortable."

Mycroft pushed the door and Molly followed him inside. This room was bigger than the one Sherlock was in. It had a lovely set of large windows that looked out onto the side garden. 

On the bed was a black Longchamp Le Pliage bag. Molly walked over and opening it found, two outfits of her clothes, pyjamas, robe, knickers, toiletries, the book from her bedside and even her knitting. 

Molly knew she should find this act entirely unsettling but instead all she felt was sheer joy at the fact that she would have a fresh set of clothes to put on after a shower. 

"Make yourself at home. I trust you will find everything you need. If I have missed anything do ask." Mycroft had opened the door to the en suite bathroom and turned on the lights. "I expect you would like to freshen up. I'll sit with Sherlock while you do."

Mycroft left before Molly had a chance to reply. 

//

For the next two days a vigil was kept at Sherlock's bedside. 

//

Molly's eyes were heavy and the time between blinks became longer. She felt someone holding her hand and pulling her up. She opened her eyes slowly to find the house mostly dark. It took her a few moments to register that Mycroft leading her away from Sherlock. Once across the hall Mycroft pulled back the covers and put Molly to bed. 

"You can only be of use when you are awake." He said gently.

"But ..." Molly tried to protest but the pillow under her head felt heavenly. 

"Rest. I'll sit with him."

"Three hours ... I must ... check him in three hours...." Molly watched through half-closed eyes as Mycroft took her phone, typed in the password with no hesitation, set an alarm and then re-placed her phone on the bedside table. 

In her mind Molly could hear the warning Sherlock had given her months ago. "Be careful. My brother knows everything." Up until now she hadn't really understood what Sherlock meant, but she was beginning to have a pretty good idea. 

//

Mycroft watched as Molly quietly padded into the room with bare feet. He didn't know what time it was exactly but could surmise it was late or very early because Molly had on her robe and pyjamas. She ignored him completely her entire focus on Sherlock. 

He watched as Molly looked at Sherlock intently with a soft smile. She was taking in everything--comparing it with all the other times she had checked on Sherlock in the last two days. 

I wonder what that feels like? Mycroft thought to himself. To have someone really care for you. 

Molly was taking Sherlock's pulse and Mycroft noticed his brother, even unconscious, relaxed a little under her touch. 

Mycroft felt a slight twinge of jealousy. He knew he was being ridiculous but that didn't make the feeling go away. 

Her observations over Molly looked over at Mycroft. "He's doing well. He will be okay."

"Only thanks to you."

Molly cheeks turned a fierce red and she looked at the floor. 

"You are very good at saving people. Shocking considering your usual clientele." Mycroft gave her a playful smirk as he said this.

"It is rather nice to have a live patient -- or one that still could be alive." Molly was still blushing. 

"Forensic Pathology." Mycroft managed to make these two words both a statement and a question. 

“I'm not good with people. I get too nervous around them. But I love medicine. In the morgue no one notices when I ramble on or say silly things. I works. For me that is." Molly gave Mycroft an uncomfortable smile her eyes darting from Mycroft to the ground not knowing where to settle. 

//

Molly was packing her things getting ready to go home when she heard a soft knock on the door. 

"Come in"

Mycroft walked in slowly carrying a small rectangular box. 

"I'm just about ready." 

"Take your time." Mycroft sat on the couch under the window and watched as Molly put the final things in and then zipped up the bag. 

Molly smiled at a Mycroft. "We did it. Again."

"No Molly you did it." Mycroft patted the couch next to him. 

Molly looked at him suspiciously but sat where requested. 

"Once again Molly. I can't thank you enough for what you have done over the past few days." Mycroft handed the box to her. 

Molly's eyes widened and she mouthed "Oh wow" silently. It was a very expensive bottle of perfume and if the free paper Molly regularly read on the Tube was correct what she held in her hands the most coveted object for women between the ages of 18-44.

"I thought this was sold out everywhere and even if you could afford it to get a bottle you had to go on a waiting list." Molly held the box to her nose and inhaled, taking in a subdued version of the fragrance inside. 

"It is and you do. Unless you are me." 

"Do you like this fragrance?" Molly was looking at Mycroft, her nose still on the box. 

"I'm not going to wear it."

"I know. But do you like it?" Molly was now looking at the box intently as she slowly turned it over in her hands. 

Mycroft sighed. "Not really. I find the undertones of patchouli remarkably unpalatable when combined with the heliotrope and violet."

Molly held Mycroft's gaze and gave Mycroft a lovely smile as she handed him back the box. "Thank you very much but I can't accept this. It's wouldn't be appreciated by the people I spend my days with. They can't smell. I'm sure you will find someone more suitable for it." 

Molly gently patted Mycroft's knee. "Good try though." She got up and walked over to her bag and gave it one last check to make sure she had everything. 

Mycroft was surprised that instead of being offended that his gift was rebuked he was relieved -- and this took him completely by surprise. Just as he was about to contemplate just why his reaction was so out of character he saw that Molly had her coat on, bag in hand and was heading out the door. 

Mycroft got up and followed her out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This mulit-chapter is my version of the relationship between Mycroft and Molly. It starts at the beginning and will go up to and possibly past Series 3. So far in my story we have not yet had Sherlock's fall and departure. It will be very obvious when we get there :) 
> 
> Housekeeping note: I can't think of a good way to indicate what people are thinking and I can't figure out how to get italics to work. Any help? 
> 
> Enjoy!


	4. The Third Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the back of his car Mycroft was so nervous he was shaking. The fact that Sherlock was in this area of town was bad enough but the notion that Molly was here too was driving him nearly crazy with worry. As his car turned the last corner he could see her up ahead, kneeling by Sherlock who was lying flat on the ground. How in the world had she ended up here?

Sherlock's words stung. Molly bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. She turned away and busied herself at the sink in her lab knowing that if she had gone into her office the words would become even more caustic. 

_I will not cry. I will not cry._

Sherlock was looking through a microscope and, obviously unhappy with his findings, had decided to take it out on Molly. His rant continued while her back was turned. 

_I will not cry. I will not cry._

When Molly turned around she saw Mycroft standing in the door way. If Sherlock knew he had arrived it did nothing to stop the verbal abuse. Mycroft was watching Molly, his jaw clenched. His fingers had turned white from gripping his umbrella handle so hard. 

A frustrated Sherlock stood up so fast the stool he was sitting on tipped over. The noise startled Molly so badly that she gave a squeak and had to choke back a sob. Sherlock shot her a withering look. Seeing his brother his demeanour turned pleasant. "Oh. You did make it. Wonderful. Now you can give me a ride home." Sherlock sauntered out of Molly's lab as if the last 20 minutes had never happened. 

Molly could feel the weight of Mycroft's stare. She had gone over to pick up the stool and was making a point of not looking at him. Molly heard Mycroft turn and follow Sherlock and only after his footsteps faded did she allow the tears to come. 

__//_ _

"What the bloody hell was that?" Mycroft started shouting at Sherlock as soon as his car door closed. 

__Sherlock scoffed at him, "What do you care?"_ _

__"I sincerely doubt that Miss Hooper could have done anything to warrant such an outburst. That was out of order." Mycroft was staring at Sherlock with fury in his eyes._ _

__"Since when did you become the protector of Pathologists." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and spat this retort across the car._ _

__"You shouldn't talk to her like that when she ...." Mycroft's mind was filled with images of Molly working desperately to save Sherlock's life. Caring for him tenderly and putting his needs before hers, never once complaining._ _

__"When she what?" challenged Sherlock._ _

__"When she is your friend." answered Mycroft quietly._ _

__"I should consider you an expert on how to treat friends because you have ... oh let me count ... none." Sherlock crossed his arms and slumped against the side of the of the car looking out the window until they reached Baker Street._ _

__Mycroft spent the rest of the journey supressing the urge to punch Sherlock in the face._ _

__//_ _

__Mycroft arrived at his office furious. He was furious at Sherlock and he was furious that he didn't know how to help Molly without making things worse. "Sir? Are you alright?" Anthea followed him into his office carrying his diary to review the afternoons schedule._ _

__"No I'm not." Mycroft sat down heavily in his chair shaking his head. "I just want to get through the rest of this day quickly and painlessly so I can go home."_ _

__"Tonight is the black-tie Commonwealth Reception at Goldsmiths Hall remember?" Anthea watched as Mycroft's face fell. He wouldn't be making it home for a long time._ _

__//_ _

__The representative from Barbados was talking to Mycroft about the current trade policy. Mycroft was nodding and smiling. The representative thought this was a good sign and that Mycroft was agreeing with what he was saying. In actual fact Mycroft was wondering when the next tray of canapies would arrive. His ringing phone provided just the excuse Mycroft needed to escape and he excused himself quickly and answered even without looking to see who was calling._ _

__"Yes?"_ _

__"Mycroft I need help."_ _

__Mycroft was startled to hear Molly's voice. She usually texted. "Molly, what my infuriating little brother did today was reprehensible but at this moment I'm in the middle of something. I can't ..."_ _

__Molly cut him off. 'No. Mycroft I need an ambulance. For Sherlock."_ _

__"Why? What's happened?"_ _

__Mycroft's eyes were frantically scanning the room looking for a quiet place to continue this conversation._ _

__"Sherlock has been beaten up really badly. I'm here with him now but I'm pretty sure he has a few broken ribs. Maybe internal bleeding. He needs to go to the hospital. Please Mycroft. He's really hurt."_ _

__Mycroft could hear the worry in her voice so he knew it must be bad. "Yes. yes. of course. Where are you?" Molly gave him the address and he winced. It was in a notoriously rough part of London. Now he was worried about both of them._ _

__"I'll be there as soon as I can."_ _

__"Hurry" and then Molly hung up._ _

__//_ _

__In the back of his car Mycroft was so nervous he was shaking. The fact that Sherlock was in this area of town was bad enough but the notion that Molly was here too was driving him nearly crazy with worry. As his car turned the last corner he could see her up ahead, kneeling by Sherlock who was lying flat on the ground. How in the world had she ended up here?_ _

__//_ _

__Molly had been on her way home after her horrible day. Sherlock shouting at her had coloured the rest of her day and nothing seemed to go right after that. She was just about home when Karl, one of the homeless people she knew came up to her._ _

__Karl was about 5'7" and skinny because he never had enough to eat. He always had the same dank musty smell but he never smelled of drink. When Molly had an unidentified body in the morgue she would sneak Karl in and most times he could find out who the person was in a couple of days. Today Molly thought that Karl looked very nervous when he approached her._ _

__"Hi Karl. Thanks for helping me out with the John Doe last week. You were right his name was Stanley. Come round to the hospital tomorrow and I'll have a bag of food for you. I'll be sure to put in some of those biscuits you like." Molly smiled at him._ _

__"Thanks lady. Your friend. He's been hurt bad." Karl's eyes kept moving as he spoke to Molly. He normally never said this much._ _

__"What friend Karl?"_ _

__"You know the tall one who shouts at you. Big black coat. Needs help."_ _

__"Sherlock? Karl do you mean Sherlock?"_ _

__"Sounds right. Couple of others are watching him. Make sure nothing funny happens but they can't watch forever." Karl gave Molly a little smile._ _

__"Take me to him."_ _

__Molly and Karl had to walk because Karl didn't use cars or the Tube so he only knew how to get to Sherlock on foot. An hour into their journey Molly suddenly thought that it would have been wise to let someone know what she was doing but, who would she call and what would she say. She and Karl continued to walk. The day had been lovely, nice and sunny but now the sun was going down and Molly's lightweight sweater wasn't keeping out the chill. She rubbed her arms and asked Karl how much longer._ _

__"Not far lady. Not far."_ _

__After only a few more minutes they turned a corner Molly could see Sherlock on the pavement up ahead, his face battered and bloody. She sprinted the last bit, arriving at Sherlock's side out of breath. Molly knelt down and began to assess what was wrong. Black eye, cut to the head by the ear, one possibly two ribs broken, possible internal bleeding, sprained ankle. It was getting darker by the minute. Karl slowly came over to her._ _

__"I was right lady. Your friend." Karl had a big smile on his face. He was very pleased with himself._ _

__"Yes. Karl he is my friend Molly said with tears rolling down her cheeks."_ _

__"Karl and his friends will keep you safe. No one will bother you. Help your friend lady."_ _

__Molly knew she couldn't help Sherlock this time. She pulled out her phone and called Mycroft._ _

__//_ _

__Sherlock was unconscious and Molly kept quietly talking to him just as much for his sake as hers. Molly was shivering and she no longer knew if it was because she was afraid or cold._ _

_Mycroft is on his way. He will be here soon._

_Mycroft is on his way. He will be here soon._

____She kept repeating this in hopes that it would come true faster. Molly was so focused on Sherlock and keeping herself calm she was startled to feel a black tuxedo jacket, which still held warmth from the person who had been wearing it for the last few hours, being draped over her shoulders. Large hands were on her upper arms gently but firmly raising Molly to her feet._ _ _ _

____The medics from the private ambulance had arrived and Mycroft was moving Molly away from Sherlock so they could bring the stretcher in. Molly turned her face to look up at Mycroft. He looked down at her, his eyes clouded with emotions: worry about Sherlock, happy to have found then both relatively safe, furious that she had come here on her own, grateful that she had found Sherlock once again._ _ _ _

____Molly took a deep breath, whispered "Thank you" to Mycroft then took two steps closer to the medics and began to discuss Sherlock's condition._ _ _ _

____//_ _ _ _

____Mycroft sat in the tastefully decorated waiting room in a private hospital in Harley Street. He was sitting with a clipboard balanced on his lap filling out admission forms._ _ _ _

____A young man dressed in a suit came in and took the clipboard and pen from Mycroft. "Your ..." the young man was scanning the form looking for the next word "....brother, certainly has a guardian angel." He said to Mycroft smiling. "If it wasn't for Dr. Hooper he would most certainly be dead by now."_ _ _ _

____The door to the room across the hall briefly opened and Mycroft caught a glimpse of Molly, still wearing his coat, with the medical team surrounding Sherlock -- questioning, suggesting, directing. Mycroft let out a deep sigh, "Yes. He most certainly would." came his tired reply._ _ _ _

____//_ _ _ _

____It was Saturday morning and Mycroft was in his office in the Diogenes Club. Anthea had insisted on coming in. Mycroft knew it was only to keep an eye on him rather than due to any pressing work._ _ _ _

____"I will be stepping out for a bit." Mycroft announced as he was putting on his coat._ _ _ _

____"Would you like me to call your car sir?"_ _ _ _

____"No thank you Anthea. I need some air and a short walk will do me good."_ _ _ _

____Anthea knew that this actually meant that her boss wanted large cup of tea and a pastry, the sort she didn't allow him to have normally. Given the last 24 hours he had had she simply said nothing._ _ _ _

____"I shall to endeavour be back in an hour when we will go over the new budget proposals."_ _ _ _

____"Very good sir."_ _ _ _

____//_ _ _ _

____On the way to his favourite tea shop Mycroft passed a small flower shop. There was a certain colour that caught his attention and caused him to detour from his intended path and into the shop instead._ _ _ _

____//_ _ _ _

____Molly looked at the bouquet and smiled. The lilacs were the most exquisite shade of periwinkle blue and the scent transported her back to when she was a little girl and the lilac bushes in her garden. She opened the small card and found in Mycroft's handwriting:_ _ _ _

____Thank You ... again. - MH_ _ _ _

____//_ _ _ _

____Mycroft was sitting across from Anthea discussing the budget forecast when his phone buzzed._ _ _ _

____SMS: You are very welcome. And thank you for the flowers. They are perfect. -- Molly_ _ _ _

____Anthea watched a small flicker of smile brush across her boss's face before he slipped his phone back in his pocket._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the italics advice! As you can see -- it has worked!
> 
> Sorry if this story is moving a bit slow ... hang in there ... it's about to get a bit more exciting!


	5. Mycroft's Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as she put her hand on her bedroom door knob Mycroft quietly said, "Sherlock is going to ask you to help him die."

23:27pm

Molly was tucked up in bed and almost asleep when she heard a text arrive. 

[SMS: Open your door. - MH]

Half-asleep she grabbed her robe off the back of the bathroom door and stumbled sleepily to her front door. Opening it she found Mycroft. 

"What are you doing here?" Mycroft swept into the flat ignoring Molly's question. 

"I'm surprised you don't have a key." Molly didn't bother to suppress a yawn. 

"I do but I didn't want to scare you to death by appearing unbidden at your bedside." 

"Thank you for your consideration." Molly dryly replied.

Mycroft was pacing in her small living room. It made him look like a very unhappy lion in a zoo. Molly hadn't bothered to turn on any lights. Even with only the street lights illuminating the room Molly could tell he was not in very good shape. 

Molly let out a sigh as her hopes of getting back to bed anytime soon vanished. Instead she went into the kitchen filled a glass with water and dropped a fizzy vitamin in it. Mycroft seemed to take no notice of her. 

Walking back into the living room she stood in Mycroft's path and he shot her a withering look as he was forced to stop. Molly grabbed his right wrist. Mycroft knew she was taking his pulse and did nothing to stop it. In the darkness she was squinting hard at him. 

It had only been a few weeks since she had seen him last and it looked like he had gained at least 10 pounds perhaps a few more. He usually perfect suit was now boarding on tight, his complexion was bad and his pulse was far too high. 

"What has happened to you?" Molly turned him around and pushed him backwards into her leather armchair. Mycroft made no effort to stop what she was dong. 

Molly retrieved the glass containing the sickly yellow fizzing liquid and thrust it into Mycroft's hand.

"I did not come here for you to dispense over-the counter elixirs to me." Mycroft snapped. 

"Oh really? Well, since you have either forgotten or refuse to say why you are here I can only assume you are here for my professional services." Molly crossed her arms and stared down her nose at Mycroft. 

He sighed and drank the contents of the glass in one go then handed her back the glass. 

Satisfied Molly sat down on the couch. "When was the last time you ate a proper meal?" Mycroft knew it looked like he was being obstinate but he couldn't answer the question. He couldn't remember when he had eaten anything that could be considered proper food let alone a full proper meal recently. 

Molly sighed. 

Staring at Molly, Mycroft could see genuine concern in her eyes. She was not making what he was about to say any easier.

"I don't know. I give up." Molly threw up her hands and slumped back on the couch. "I'm sure you didn't come for a lecture on the importance of nutrition from a pathologist."

Mycroft continued to stare at her his breathing heavy.

"I'm really tired. You can stay as long as you want. I am sure your CCTV cameras come with a floor plan so my guess is you already know where everything is." Molly got up with a sigh and headed back to her bedroom. 

Just as she put her hand on her bedroom door knob Mycroft quietly said, "Sherlock is going to ask you to help him die."

Wordlessly Molly turned around and sat back down on the couch. Mycroft was looking at his hands. They were clasped together on his lap. "Cogs in a machine not of my making are turning. I'm not at liberty to say more. A number of people are going to hate me for a long time. Sherlock is going to come to you for help. Whatever it is he asks, do it." Mycroft looked up at Molly, "Please."

"I'm a doctor. You know I can't ...." Molly was shaking her head in disbelief. 

"Molly, don't say no. All I'm asking ... no all I am telling you ... whatever you have to do ... nothing will happen to you."

For a few minutes Molly just sat and watched Mycroft. He looked so tired and filled with worry.

A simple "Okay" was all she said. Molly knew he wouldn't, no couldn't say any more so it was pointless to ask. 

"Stay as long as you need to." Molly got up and went back to bed.

When Molly woke up the next morning she wondered if Mycroft’s visit had actually happened or if it had all been a very strange dream.

Molly took her phone from her bedside table and the text telling her to open her door had vanished from her phone.

Gently she opened her bedroom door half-expecting to see Mycroft asleep in her chair – but of course he wasn’t. Her living room was the same as she had left it the night before.

Walking into the kitchen there was no used glass in the sink. She opened her cupboard -- there it was washed, dried and put away. 

Molly had just about convinced herself that it had been a dream when she noticed her half-used tube of fizzy vitamins was gone. 

It hadn’t been a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter -- I know! Sorry! Just need to move things on a bit and this seemed a good place to end ... until next time!


	6. The Pyjamas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock appeared and asked for Molly's help three weeks after Mycroft's nocturnal visit. 
> 
> When Molly agreed to help Sherlock she didn’t know this also meant that both Holmes brothers would move into her flat until this, whatever you could call it, was over.

Molly was tired. It had been a long day at work, and she had the added stress of sneaking out of her lab the things Sherlock would need for his "jump." Arriving home she got quite a shock when she opened her door to find Sherlock and Mycroft had covered most of the surfaces of her tiny flat in maps, architect plans and drawings of Bart’s and the surrounding area.

Neither brother acknowledged Molly as she came in. The two men remained in deep conversation, only with each other, throughout dinner. Molly tided up after the meal -- alone.  Mycroft and Sherlock, once finished eating, had quickly retreated back to the living room to continue pouring over their notes and diagrams. 

Even though it was early, right after dinner in fact, Molly went into her bedroom to get ready for bed. A few minutes later, with a freshly scrubbed face, wearing her robe and pyjamas Molly walked into the living room on her way to the kitchen to get a drink of water.

Sherlock stopped in mid-sentence, his gaze turning away from Mycroft and focusing on Molly, “Are you going to bed?”  

“Yes.” Molly held out her arms as if to say, ‘Where else would I be going dressed like this?’  

“Go change your pyjamas. I don’t sleep well when you have that pair on.”

Mycroft felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured on him. During all of the months he had seen Sherlock and Molly together -- even when the CCTV cameras had shown Sherlock spending the night here in Molly's flat -- it had never occurred to Mycroft that they might be sleeping together. Molly had never indicated that she was Sherlock’s lover.

“What?” Molly as now standing with her hands on her hips frowning at Sherlock. “How you sleep depends on which pyjamas I wear?”

“Yes.” said Sherlock emphatically. “That pair has a tag that irritates you causing you to toss and turn all night keeping me awake. Go put on the lilac pair. -- they don't have any tags."

"But I like the colour of these pyjamas. I think this shade of salmon suits me." Molly was looking down admiring what she was wearing. 

Mycroft silently agreed with Molly. The colour did suit her.

"It will be dark. Colour doesn't matter." Sherlock turned his attention back to the map he was holding.                                

Molly rolled her eyes and walked back into her bedroom only to return a few minutes later with a different pair of pyjamas on – the lilac pair Sherlock had requested – and continued on to the kitchen for her drink of water.                 

“Much better,” said Sherlock without looking up. “I’ll be in shortly."

Mycroft felt like he was going to be sick.

//

Although he had been offered the guest room, Mycroft had declined, instead choosing to remain in the leather club chair that was facing Molly's bedroom door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I know this is short -- I split this update in two just so I could get something posted!


	7. The Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking home from Sainsbury’s with two bags of shopping Molly wondered what she was going to find in her flat today.  It had now been six days since Sherlock and Mycroft had moved in with her. 

Walking home from Sainsbury’s with two bags of shopping Molly wondered what she was going to find in her flat today.  It had now been six days since Sherlock and Mycroft had moved in with her. 

Sherlock’s "Fall" was over. The documents about Bart's had been replaced by schematic drawings of the Denver airport, foreign train time tables, the ventilation plan of the Paris metro network, as well as huge maps of Pakistan and a half dozen other exotic locations -- all littering her usually very tidy flat. In addition to the mess it was the noise that was getting to Molly. The brothers vacillated between screaming obscenities at each other to whispered pleas.

Stepping out of the old elevator she could hear the men shouting. Molly steeled herself for the wall of sound that would hit her as soon as she opened the door.  Walking into her flat she took her coat off and hung it on the coat rack. Mycroft’s overcoat was still in the same position as it was when she had left that morning.

Molly didn’t bother to say hello but just walked into the kitchen to put away the shopping. If either Sherlock or Mycroft had noticed she had come in they didn’t make any acknowledgement.

“I can’t leave with this issue unresolved,” shouted Sherlock inches from his brothers face.

“Brother dear,” purred Mycroft “you know full well there is no “issue” as you incorrectly put it. It is just you refusing to accept the truth.” Mycroft, who was sitting in the leather club chair picked up the folded copy of Financial Times that was lying on the side table and began to scan the front page -- an obvious move to further infuriate his brother.

Sherlock was pacing back and forth, his eyes darting erratically, obviously trying to see if there was a new way to approach this situation. He needed to ensure resolution sooner rather than later. “Molly!,” Sherlock shouted at the top of his voice, “Did you get my shopping?”

Molly came into the living room holding two cups of freshly made tea. “Yes I did. I’m not still in Sainsbury’s. You don’t need to shout,” she replied.          

“Oh good you’re here. I have a question for you,” said Sherlock suddenly smiling. Molly saw Mycroft look up from the FT, his eyes sending daggers at the back of Sherlock’s head.

“Molly,” Sherlock began, using his ‘I’m going to be sweet even though it’s such a chore’ tone of voice. “Which song do you think is more superior 'Hey Jude' or 'Brown Sugar'?”

“Uh. Umm,” Molly faltered. The question caught her off guard. There was obviously a right answer but she couldn’t tell which it was so she tentatively said, “Hey Jude?”

Molly saw Mycroft’s jaw clench as he stifled a smile and put the FT up ever so slightly just to hide his face.

“AUGH!,” cried Sherlock as he stormed towards Molly’s bedroom. “And next time you buy a flat Dr. Hooper make sure you get one where the doors properly slam!” The door closed behind Sherlock with a meek thud.

Molly stood in her living room with a startled look on her face not sure what had just happened.

“I must apologise for my brother Molly,” said Mycroft folding the paper and putting it down. “He has been under the delusion for decades that the Rolling Stones are the greatest band of all time, when obviously it is the Beatles,” said Mycroft with a smug smile.

Molly walked over and handed one of the cups of tea to Mycroft and then looked at the couch questioningly, “Oh yes. Sorry. We’re done with those,” said Mycroft motioning at the piles of maps and train schedules on the couch indicating that Molly could move the papers and sit down.

“Seriously. Sherlock has, no we, have faked Sherlock’s death and the most pressing issue at the moment is ‘Who is the greatest band of all time?’” Molly took a sip of tea and looked at Mycroft.

 “An ongoing argument which will never be concluded,” said Mycroft quietly. “Sometimes it’s comforting to have the same arguments. He and I both know how it starts, the points each will raise and how to refute. It always ends with him storming out in a huff. It’s been happening for years.” Mycroft ran his finger along the rim of his tea cup. It was obvious Mycroft's mind was miles away. 

“Is he afraid?” Molly asked quietly. 

“Terrified is more accurate.”

 “And you?”

“I have worked so hard to keep Sherlock close to me to keep him safe. Now, to keep him safe I have to send him away. Ironic don’t you think?” Molly could see the anguish in Mycroft’s eyes.

Molly laid her hand on Mycroft’s knee. Their eyes met.

“Do not tell me it will be fine. You do not know it will be fine.” Mycroft said quietly through gritted teeth.

Molly sighed and simply gave Mycroft’s knee a small squeeze before she removed her hand.

Molly and Mycroft slowly drank their tea.  Neither of them felt any interest in making conversation. 

“I’ve got to go out for a while. Greg wants me to go over to see John with him. I could hardly say no.” Mycroft watched silently as Molly got up, organised her purse and put on her coat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, Mycroft loves the leather chair! I wonder if he has gotten up at all over the last six days?


	8. The Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And speaking of when you are long gone brother dear …. “ Mycroft took a deep breath, “What about Molly?”
> 
> There.
> 
> The question the brothers had been skirting around for six days was finally uttered out loud. Exactly what did the future hold for Miss Molly Hooper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own these characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes.

Sherlock came out of Molly’s bedroom as soon as he heard the front door close. Sitting down on the couch in the space Molly had just vacated Sherlock looked directly at Mycroft. 

“We can’t ignore the elephant in the room any longer Mycroft. I’m almost ready to go. The conversation needs to happen now.”

“You obviously have great affection for Molly. Exactly how long have you two been lovers?” Mycroft steeled himself for the answer. Since the incident with the pyjamas Mycroft had rehearsed asking this question a hundred times.

A placid look remained on Sherlock’s face. "Irrelevant discussion point." 

Mycroft’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared even more intently at Sherlock.

“Why on Earth would she put up with you if you aren't lovers?” Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as he remembered all of the insults, snarky comments and general nastiness that Sherlock had heaped on Molly over the years.

Sherlock threw his head back as he laughed heartily. "Your people obviously haven’t briefed you fully on our dear Miss Hooper. At some point, when I am long gone … ask Molly what her brother’s nickname was for her when they were children.”

Mycroft gave a resigned sigh and forged on cognisant that precious time was being wasted. 

“And speaking of when you are long gone brother dear …. “ Mycroft took a deep breath, “What about Molly?”

There.

The question the brothers had been skirting around for six days was finally uttered out loud. Exactly what did the future hold for Miss Molly Hooper.

Bowing his head to look at the ground Sherlock's voice took on a serious tone, “You know as well as I do that at some point someone will figure out she helped me. And she’ll be in danger. Grave danger.” Sherlock looked at his hands as he tried to find the right words. “Don’t let anything happen to her. Do whatever you have to do to keep her safe.”

Mycroft looked at his brother and waited for Sherlock to continue.

“Marry her off to the 67th in line to the Spanish throne. Send her to a cattle ranch in Texas. Sequester her in a convent in Japan. I give you my blessing, my permission, whatever you want to call it. Mycroft, don’t let anyone hurt her. Please.” Sherlock’s eyes were clouded with worry.

Without uttering a word Mycroft simply held out his hand to Sherlock.

For a moment Sherlock just stared at the outstretched hand, knowing that as soon as he shook it. Molly’s fate would be determined by his brother.

Slowly, Sherlock slipped his hand into Mycroft’s and the grip tightened, each remembering how long it had been since they had exchanged any intimacy. Once upon a time only mere hours would go by before young Sherlock would seek out a hand or the lap of his older brother. 

The brothers held the handshake for a few moments silently saying goodbye while being brought together by a woman that actually didn’t belong to either of them

*****

Moving very slowly an emotionally exhausted Molly climbed the stairs to her flat. It had been a long afternoon with John and Greg. She was not looking forward to dealing with Mycroft and Sherlock tonight. Sure she could have taken the rickety old elevator with the gate passengers had to pull across themselves but she was savouring the final few moments before she walked into the evenings' screaming match. 

Recently the chaos in her flat had been so overwhelming she had been tempted to check into a hotel tonight instead of come home. 

As she slipped her key in the lock all she could hear was silence. This was worse than screaming. With screaming at least she could tell what was happening. Silence meant the fury could have come from a comment made 30 minutes ago or from Christmas Dinner circa 1995. 

Slowly Molly opened her front door. Peering inside she was shocked to find her flat once again neat and tidy. The stacks of plans, schedules and notes were gone -- not just tidied away. 

Looking out of the living room window, Mycroft didn’t bother to turn around when Molly entered the room.

“Is it over?” asked Molly quietly 

“Yes Molly. He’s gone,” replied Mycroft slowly.  “I believe I should be going myself and let you get on with your life.”

Deliberately Mycroft walked across the room. Taking his coat off the hook and putting it on Mycroft faced Molly and took a deep breath. “Once again my sincere thanks for everything you have ever done for Sherlock. Good evening Molly. Do ring me if you need anything.” 

And with that Mycroft slipped out the door. 

Standing alone in her flat Molly could hear the elevator taking Mycroft down to the ground floor. Instead of being sad, she was surprised to have a wave of relief wash over her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for the delay! I have the next five or so chapters mostly ready so the next update should be soon.


	9. Black knight to White queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks had passed since Mycroft left Molly in her flat. During that time Molly had not seen Mycroft at all. 
> 
> The same could not be said for Mycroft. He had seen Molly every day.

Weeks had passed since Mycroft left Molly in her flat. During that time Molly had not seen Mycroft at all. 

The same could not be said for Mycroft. He had seen Molly every day. 

//

The day had been normal. Its hours had passed uneventfully and now it was 4pm on a Tuesday afternoon. 

Unceremoniously Mycroft logged into the CCTV system and selected the camera in Molly's lab -- just as he had done every working day since Sherlock had left. 

Without even glancing at the monitor Mycroft knew what the fuzzy images would show him. Like clockwork, Molly would remove her gloves at 16:01, collect her things, and make her way home. 

As Mycroft read the last few files on his desk he only kept half an eye on the screen. Today he was using facial recognition software which was automatically tracking Molly on her journey home. The cameras were being switched on and off without any interaction from Mycroft as she moved from work to Tube to flat. Any out of the ordinary movement, interaction or delay would trigger an alarm. Given the fact her movement patterns were so consistent an alarm was highly unlikely. Turns out Molly is a creature of habit and Mycroft now had a full data file to prove it.

Taking a deep breath Mycroft rubbed his face with both hands. He had been doing this nearly a month and he was still no clearer on what he should actually be doing with Molly. Tracking her movement to ensure her physical safety was one thing. Making sure she stayed safe long term – that was something completely different -- especially if she wasn’t privy to Sherlock’s plea. 

Glimpsing at today’s black and white image Mycroft did a double-take. Maybe it was this particular camera's resolution but Molly looked tired. Frowning Mycroft pulled his keyboard towards him and after a few key strokes the record system for Bart's opened on his screen. Molly's day had been busy but not overly so. 

Letting out a sigh Mycroft packed his briefcase and prepared to pay Molly a visit. 

***  
As his car negotiated the London afternoon traffic Mycroft allowed himself to remember the last time he had been in Molly’s flat: the conversation with Sherlock; shock filling Molly’s eyes when it registered that it was finally over; his relief when Molly hadn't immediately burst into tears. Mycroft was sure that day the tears would have been contagious. 

Standing outside her door Mycroft absent mindedly turned Molly’s door key over in his hand. Putting the key back in his pocket Mycroft knocked knowing he was arriving after her post-work shower. By the lovely smells seeping into the hallway Molly was already in the midst of cooking dinner. 

"Oh. Hello Mycroft. Forget your key?"

After opening the door Molly had immediately returned to the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Ah no. I didn't think it was appropriate to use it anymore."

Peeking out of the kitchen Molly looked Mycroft up and down with raised eyebrows. "Mycroft Holmes actually knocking to gain entry. Are you ill Mycroft. This is not like you."

Hanging up his coat in what used to be his usual spot Mycroft went into the small kitchen. After giving the label of white wine Molly was cooking with a look of slight approval he poured himself a glass.

"I see manners don't continue once inside the property."

"May I?" Mycroft asked mockingly as he held up the glass towards Molly. 

"Of course you can. I was just teasing." Molly gave Mycroft a nice smile as she continued to chop and then put the ingredients into the hot pans on the stove. She handed Mycroft a spoon and indicated he should stir the pan closest to him.

"How have you been Molly?"

"You tell me. I'm sure your cameras have been tracking me 24 hours a day since he left."

"He asked me to keep an eye on you."

"I will be happy to report that you are indeed doing that. Two eyes most probably. And you? How are you?"

After a slight hesitation, "Fine. I'm just fine." Mycroft replied suddenly very interested in his wine glass.

"That makes two of us. I'm just as fine as you are." Molly said with a small sigh.

They both continued stirring. Only the sound of the food cooking came from the kitchen.

Molly tasted the bolognaise sauce, declared it done, and asked Mycroft to set the table as she plated up the food. Once they had sat down Molly looked nervously at Mycroft, "Have you heard anything?"

"No I haven't. And I won't. Not for months. Currently my little brother is merely a rumor in some distant land. I can't follow his movements. I just can't." Shaking his head Mycroft continued to eat.

Molly knew full well this wasn't out of lack of ability but because it would be too painful for Mycroft to know where Sherlock was and be able to do nothing to about it. 

A comfortable silence hovered over most of dinner. Neither was particularly interested in small talk. After the table was cleared, dishes in the dishwasher Mycroft followed Molly into the living room. She sat down on the sofa and Mycroft sat down in his usual leather chair. The Economist he had been reading the last time he had sat in this chair was still on the side table. 

Looking around Mycroft noted that not much in the flat had changed. The only new addition seemed to be the chess board set up on the coffee table with pieces laid out as if in the middle of a game. 

"I didn't know you played," said Mycroft looking intently at the board. 

"Oh yes." Molly answered happily. “My father taught me and my brother. I never made Grandmaster but I can hold my own against most. 

"Are you in the middle of a game?" 

"No. It's just the chess puzzle from the Sunday paper. For about the last year Sherlock and I have been racing each other to see who can come up with the solution first. Or find a mistake. Or another way of solving it." Shrugging her shoulders, Molly ran a finger along the edge of the wooden board. "Since he’s been gone I’ve just been doing it out of habit really." 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and gave a small snort. "I wondered why he had suddenly become so keen on chess."

"He didn't." A look of utter disbelief appeared on Molly’s face.

"Apparently he did. Looks like all three of us have actually been doing the Sunday Chess puzzle. He was probably passing our answers off as his own. Leave it to Sherlock. Shaking his head Mycroft’s attention turned to the chess board.

Leaving back on the couch Molly said coolly, "It's quite good that we can't find him at this moment."

"Quite true," answered Mycroft lost in thought.

Again silence fell between the pair. 

After a few minutes Molly spoke. "Look Mycroft. It's been lovely seeing you. But don’t feel you have to check up on me. I'm a big girl."

"I know you are Molly. I said I would keep an eye. And so I am."

"Alright. I know I can't stop you. Tuesday is spag bol night. You are always welcome. And actually it would make me feel better to know that you are getting a decent meal at least once in a while."

"Thank you. I shall take you up on your kind invitation. And the chess puzzle?" Mycroft slowly and deliberately moved the pieces one move before the solution. 

"We might as well keep going. It will be much more efficient now that the middle man has left." With a smile Molly made the final move. 

Mycroft gave Molly a small nod of approval. 

"There is something else Molly,” taking a deep breath Mycroft paused before continuing. “I'm going away."

"Going away? Where? What do you mean?" Frowning Molly looked at Mycroft with complete shock.

"There is a conference overseas I must attend,” Looking down at his hands Mycroft could feel Molly staring at him. “I know it is ridiculous but I didn't feel that I could leave without telling you.” Suddenly Mycroft felt very self-conscious, “If an issue arises ring Anthea. She has the authority to provide you with whatever you may need."

"I told you. I will be fine --both when you are in London and when you are not." Slowly the hard look Molly was giving Mycroft dissolved. She understood he was only trying to do what he thought was right – even if she didn’t agree – and he was being a bit silly. Molly certainly didn’t expect Mycroft to check in with her each time he left town. "But thank you. For your concern that is." Molly laid a hand on Mycroft’s knee and gave him a small smile. 

"It's late and I have the early shift tomorrow so I'm off to bed. Sleeping in your favourite chair?" 

"No. I need to go. I'll be in touch when I'm back." Mycroft stood up and walked over to put his coat on." Molly -- anything that doesn't seem right -- ring." Mycroft gave Molly a stern look as he adjusted his coat. 

"Okay. Okay. I got it. Have a good trip." After closing the door behind him Molly went over to her living room window and watched Mycroft's car pull away from the curb. For the first time since Sherlock had left Molly wondered if there was something out there she should be worried about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, it is a quiet night in my house so I decided to post this chapter a few days early. I know this chapter seems a little boring (sorry!) ... if you can imagine that this is the base of the roller coaster and we are just about to climb up the first hill .... I can assure you things are going to get very exciting soon! Just a quick warning ... when I post the next chapter I will have to raise the rating of the story to Mature. Chapter 10 is almost done so you can expect another update in about a week. Enjoy!


	10. A Compromising Position

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more Mycroft thought about it the more convinced he became that a night of mind-blowing sex was just what he needed to shake off the mood he had been in since his brother had left.
> 
> But things don't always go to plan ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own these characters. This work is for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> // 
> 
> I looked at my schedule for the next few days and realised I needed to post this now -- warts and all! Sorry! In a few days I will go through it again to see what I have missed.

Just as footballers have a cohort of beautiful women that surround them so do the men who run the world. Political WAGs (Wives and Girlfriends) are as well versed in foreign policy as they are in the latest shades of lipstick. These women have been to every opera, can explain the origin of the obscure cultural event on display, and are able to make small talk for hours with even the most uncommunicative. They are also fully versed on how to help a man forget his sorrows -- especially useful when a critical negotiation has fallen through and said man is now single-handedly responsible for the next 10 years of economic woe in his county. 

As with most men, Mycroft Holmes had a distinct type of woman that seemed to appear beside him at countless receptions, dinners, and cultural events. After so many years it was hard for Mycroft to remember if he had expressed a preference for this sort of women or if she was simply what was on offer. 

Mycroft's Type: -Always pretty and well kept, she owns closets full of luxury brands in single digit sizes. 

-After the most recent divorce countless hours had been spent in the gym running/rowing/stair climbing off frustrations which gave her trim figure definition and gave her psyche an air of determination.

-There were children - always children -usually two, perhaps three, very occasionally four. Not that Mycroft ever saw said children – they were always scattered around the globe ensconced in prestigious boarding schools.

-The divorce(s) and children (full, step, and halves) provided her with various complexes and emotional baggage. 

Mycroft found this comforting -- it allowed him to imagine there was hardly room in her life for more complexity. 

And Mycroft knew he was nothing if not complex. 

He put in little effort, once his needs (a delightful evening, intelligence gathering, sex) were met so not much of any significance came from these encounters -- which suited Mycroft just perfectly. 

//

During the month since Sherlock's apparent suicide Mycroft had given the world the impression he was mourning his recently departed brother. Invitations to non-critical global gatherings were turned down. But time was marching on. Grief or not, he had to attend the conference in New York. 

One of the challenges overseas conferences posed which Mycroft found particularly difficult, was dealing with one of the Political WAGs (or more accurately a WAG-in-waiting) for the duration of the event. This personal side of the event’s host arranging one's evening companion added an extra complexity to negotiations and networking which Mycroft simply didn't need. 

Although, once Mycroft found out who was to be his +1 in NYC -- Monica – his spirit brightened. 

The more Mycroft thought about it the more convinced he became that a night of mind-blowing sex was just what he needed to shake off the mood he had been in since his brother had left. 

It wouldn’t even be a challenge to seduce Monica. Mycroft and Monica had known each other for a long time. In fact years ago in Basel, when Monica was still married to Peter, she and Mycroft had nearly ended up in bed together after a night in the hotel bar. 

Mycroft was feeling better already.

//

With the formalities of the first afternoon of the conference over Mycroft made his way down the corridor of the elegant hotel. He stopped in front of one of the many identical doors, knocked quietly -- and then used the key card in his pocket to open the door. 

"Who's an impatient boy then?" Monica called out from deep inside the suite. 

"You know I don't like to be kept waiting." Mycroft surveyed the hotel room and noted the flowers he had sent were on the table.

Much to his surprise Mycroft didn't have to put a smile on his face when Monica appeared – it came naturally. 

It had been over six months since he had last seen her and Mycroft was pleased to find Monica just as lovely as he had remembered. He silently thanked Peter for giving her such a horrible divorce. All those hours on the treadmill had done wonders for her backside. “Yes,” Mycroft assured himself, “This is exactly what I need.”

"Hello Mycroft." Sliding her arms around him Monica turned her face up to be kissed which Mycroft did willingly. 

"Did you bring me anything?"

"Would I do such a thing?" A small grin danced across Mycroft’s face.

"My dear one of the best things about you is your presents." Monica lightly kissed him again. 

From out of his jacket pocket Mycroft pulled a bottle of very expensive perfume. The same bottle he tried -- and failed -- to give Molly. 

Her face lighting up with delight when she saw it Monica opened the box immediately and sprayed a large cloud of the fragrance in the middle of the room which she then twirled through. 

"You do know how to make a girl feel special. All my friends will be desperately jealous." Monica purred in Mycroft's ear. "I'm looking forward to officially thanking you later."

Stifling a cough Mycroft forced a small smile as he wondered why he suddenly felt so uncomfortable.

//

During the opera Mycroft glanced over at Monica. Her dress was designer, her hair and make-up were both well done – the overall look was perfect. They made quite a dashing couple if he did say so himself. Intently watching the stage Monica held a small clutch bag on her lap. It was bright blue with a silver clasp. Something about the colour ... or the simple but elegant style … "That would really suit Molly," suddenly popped into his head. Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his seat wondering why in the world he was thinking about Miss Hooper while sitting next to Monica. 

// 

"I thought the opera just dragged on tonight. What about you?" The door to her hotel suite had barely closed before Monica draped a thin arm deliciously around Mycroft's neck pulling their heads together. 

"Indeed. Perhaps because I was anticipating tonight’s final act." Mycroft's voice had taken on a silky-low tone as he whispered this in Monica’s ear. 

In two gasps, a shudder and a moan Mycroft had discarded Monica's designer frock and, was getting down to the business at hand. Unfortunately not long after he had started Mycroft realized he wasn't enjoying himself very much -- which was quite disappointing because he had been so looking forward to this. He looked down at the woman beneath him ... Monica was his type …. she was smart … she was beautiful … she was by all accounts perfect for him ... This should be working. 

But it wasn't. It really, really wasn’t.

With time no longer on his side in an instant Mycroft did some swift calculations made various adjustments to his technique and managed to give Monica a toe-curling orgasm just in the nick of time.

Mycroft Holmes always finishes what he starts. 

"If Peter had been able to do that to me just once we would still be married," gasped Monica looking over at Mycroft. 

He knew it was meant as a compliment but hearing a woman speak about her ex-husband moments after rolling off of her is never a good thing. This situation was not getting any better. 

With Monica basking in the afterglow Mycroft rolled over and tossed his empty condom in the bin. Tuning back around to face her, Mycroft was mostly ignoring Monica’s pillow talk as he tried to figure out where it had all gone wrong. 

She was his type. The evening had been perfect. He had planned for this to happen. He had wanted this to happen. 

Now all he wanted was to get back to his hotel room --alone-- as fast as possible. He needed an excuse – a reason to leave -- NOW. 

From somewhere in Mycroft’s pile of clothes a text alert sounded from his phone.

The sound made Mycroft freeze -- he knew instantly the text was from Molly.

Months ago when Mycroft had first called on Molly to help him find Sherlock he had assigned her a special text tone and given her number the highest level access which meant her texts would reach him even if his phone was off. It had been so long since Molly had texted him Mycroft had forgotten all about it and obviously never reduced her communication level.

"You need to go and answer her don't you." 

"Her?" Mycroft frowned at Monica who was now sitting up in bed with the sheet tucked under her arms. 

"Of course it's a “her.” Hearing that text brought the only bit of life to your eyes I've seen all night," Monica said to Mycroft with an air of slight disappointment. 

Taking a deep breath Mycroft exited the bed and quickly got dressed. 

"I'm sorry Monica. I didn't intend for it to end this way." Mycroft, now fully clothed, sat down on the side of the bed next to Monica. 

"No hard feelings. I've been married twice. I know what a man who wants someone else looks like.”

Mycroft began to protest but Monica laid a finger over his lips to silence him.

“I'll see you at lunch. We are at the table with the French delegation today. Don’t spend all night on the phone with her. I don’t want you falling asleep on me during lunch." Monica lightly laughed as she waggled a finger at Mycroft. 

With a small smile Mycroft leaned over and kissed Monica on the head and said goodbye.

//

As soon as the door to Monica’s hotel room closed behind him Mycroft turned his phone on and checked the message from Molly. 

[SMS: Sorry to bother you. Call me. Please?]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I warned you -- this chapter was going to be exciting! And the fun is just beginning! The next chapter is well underway and I hope to post it in a few days. Enjoy!


	11. Something Is Not Quite Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft rings Molly .... The British Government wants to go home ... But when he gets home .....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own these characters. This work is purely for entertainment.

Looking at his watch, Mycroft did a quick calculation in his head. It was in the early hours of the morning in London. Why would Molly be texting him now? She should be asleep.

While the lift took Mycroft up to the floor where his room was, he kept staring at the message on his phone hoping for some insight as to why Molly wanted to talk to him. During the short trip, he was also forcing himself to breathe deeply to slow his racing heart. Although he was loathe to admit it, Mycroft was nervous and he didn’t exactly know why.

Once inside his hotel suite, he didn't even bother to turn on the lights before dialing Molly's number.

She picked up on the first ring.

"Molly. Is everything alright?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you."

"But you did. What is it, Molly? Tell me."

Standing in the dark hotel room looking out onto New York City Mycroft was trying to be calm, but given the events of the last hour, his ability to keep his emotions under control was eroding by the second.

"It's just … it’s silly …. I’m sorry … something doesn't feel right … I don’t feel right."

The hairs stood up on the back of Mycroft’s neck. "You were right to ring Molly.”

Mycroft knew that sixth sense should never be ignored. “Have you noticed anything odd recently? Anything at all?”

"No. Not really. It's just ... London feels so strange without you or Sherlock here.”

“Talk to me Molly. Tell me. How does it feel strange?”

Mycroft was not particularly good at remaining calm while coaxing information out of people, especially when that person was an ocean away and should be asleep.

A stream of consciousness began to flow from Molly. This unsettled Mycroft even more because she never acted this way with him. She was never this nervous. He made no effort to stop the mindless chatter and let Molly talk in the hope that he would hear something that would clue him into her situation better.

While Molly continued speaking, Mycroft went over to his laptop and opened up a chat conversation with Anthea. In no time, there was a surveillance car on the way to Molly’s flat, to check out the area tonight. And to keep watch until Mycroft arrived back in London.

Molly's security status was raised. The cameras that had been on automatic surveillance― only activating an alert if she strayed from her usual patterns ― were replaced with members of Mycroft's security team watching Molly when she left her flat.

Due to recent telecommunication laws, Mycroft was unable to log into the CCTV network himself while overseas. The wait for information was agonising.

Five minutes passed before the surveillance car checked in. It was not good news. There was someone outside Molly’s block of flats watching the front door. Mycroft took a deep breath and closed his eyes while a string of profanities flew through his head. He ordered the last 48 hours of CCTV footage surrounding Molly’s flat be reviewed, a trace on the car and an ID on the occupants.

On the other side of the world, the person at the other end of his phone was getting sleepy.

“Mycroft I need to hang up. I’m falling asleep.”

“I’ll be home the day after tomorrow. Sleep well. And do ring again if you need to.” Mycroft hoped Molly couldn’t hear the nervousness in his voice.

After hanging up, Mycroft sat in his hotel room, the only light coming from the computer screen. With his elbows on the desk, he laid his head in his hands. This trip had turned out to be such a bad idea. All he wanted to do was go home. He began ticking off the hours in his head until he landed at Heathrow.

//

Although British Airways flight 112 from JFK to LHR had touched down earlier than scheduled on Saturday morning, weekend or not and given the amount of work that awaited him, Mycroft still didn’t have enough time to see Molly before his first meeting.

It had just gone 9am when Mycroft, sitting in his black car on his way to his second meeting of the day, finally managed a quiet moment to call Molly.

“Molly. I’m back.”

“Oh hi Mycroft. Sorry again for the other night. I’m so embarrassed." Molly said in a groggy voice. Mycroft looked at his watch and frowned, wondering why Molly, who was usually in bed by 10:30p would sound half asleep at 9am, even if it was Saturday.

“Please don’t be. May I come over to see you this afternoon?”

There was a slight pause that gave Mycroft concern.

“Okay.” It really didn’t sound like Molly thought it was okay at all.

“I won’t stay long,” came his quiet reply.

“Sure. See you later," replied Molly with a yawn.

//

After Sherlock's fall, as a precautionary measure, Mycroft had a full set of security cameras installed in Molly's flat. After Sherlock's departure, Mycroft had these cameras taken offline, believing this level of surveillance unpalatable and too invasive for anyone other than Sherlock.

But as he stood surveying Molly’s flat from just over the threshold, Mycroft was kicking himself -damn his convictions. He should have checked the cameras IN Molly's flat the moment he had stepped off the plane. And if he had, he would have rushed over hours ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a bit short but it made sense to break it here. Next chapter is well underway! Next post should be next week. Enjoy!


	12. What would I do without you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Mycroft. Welcome back. You used your key.” Molly replied weakly.
> 
> “It looks like I have arrived none too soon.” Scanning the room Mycroft was trying to decide if anyone else had had a hand in this mess or if it was all Molly's doing. "Care to explain what is going on?"

Molly’s usually very tidy flat looked like a bomb had been detonated in it. Nothing had been put away for days. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink. Numerous tea cups, their contents half-drunk, were scattered around the flat.

Lying on the couch Molly barely opened her eyes when she heard Mycroft approach her. She was pale, her hair was a mess and still had her pyjamas on – even though it was now well into the afternoon. It was obvious she had spent most of the day on the couch.

“Hey Mycroft. Welcome back. You used your key.” Molly replied weakly.

“It looks like I have arrived none too soon.” Scanning the room Mycroft was trying to decide if anyone else had had a hand in this mess or if it was all Molly's doing. "Care to explain what is going on?"

“I don’t know. Suddenly I am just so tired.” Molly yawned as she sat up. “I don’t seem to have any energy these days.”

“Are you eating properly?”

A small giggle escaped from her as she tilted her head towards Mycroft, “Isn’t that my line?”

It took a lot for him not to start shouting and demanding answers he knew deep down didn’t exist. He needed to keep calm. He needed to figure out what had happened to Molly and he needed to do it quickly.

“Tea," he said suddenly. “You need tea." Mycroft moved towards the kitchen.

Having been so shocked by the state of Molly's flat, it was only now Mycroft realised he still had his coat on. He walked over to hang up his coat in his usual spot by the front door while behind him he heard Molly grunt a little as she pushed herself off the couch.

“No, no. I'll get it.” As soon as Molly stood up, she realised this was a very bad idea. Two steps towards the kitchen and her world began to go black.

”Mycroft … help!” cried Molly weakly. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the look of fear in Mycroft’s eyes as he watched her crumple to the floor, unable to reach her in time.

//

John pulled the ringing phone out of his pocket. Upon seeing the name of the caller. he rolled his eyes in disgust.

“What the hell do you want, Mycroft? I have nothing to say to you. Go away.”

“John. Don’t hang up. It’s Molly.”

The only thing that stopped John from hanging up was the frantic tone of Mycroft’s voice.

“What? Molly? What?”

“There is something wrong with her. Please help. She’s in her flat and she has passed out.”

“I’m coming. But for her. Not you.”

“Understood.”

//

Opening her eyes slowly, Molly found herself on her bed, on top of the duvet with the blanket she usually kept on the back of the sofa covering her. She could hear two men talking in her living room. It took her a few moments to register that the voices belonged to Mycroft and John.

Soon, John entered her bedroom carrying his doctor’s bag. He had a fake bedside smile on his face used by all doctors. It didn’t conceal the worry in his eyes. Outside the open door, Molly could see Mycroft loitering. Close enough to hear but pretending not to listen by making sure he was looking in the other direction.

“Here’s my patient.” John stood over Molly, looking her up and down.

Molly smiled at him weakly. “Hi John. How are you?”

“I think the question is actually, how are you?”

“Fine. I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

John sighed and moved to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Molly, you and I know both know this is not just a 'little tired,'” John spoke not in his usual voice but with his stern doctor tone. “Tell me. What’s been going on?”

Taking a deep breath, Molly explained sheepishly, “About a week ago I suddenly became really tired. I could hardly keep my eyes open. No matter how much I slept. I was too tired to do anything more than get myself into bed after work. I guess the flat got a bit messy.”

“I am not worried about the flat. The flat will be fine. Have you been eating properly?”

“No”

“Have you been eating at all?”

“Nothing tastes good at the moment, so no. Not really.”

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then held Molly’s gaze for a few moments while he took one of her hands and held it between both of his.

“Molly. Are you pregnant?”

Upon hearing John’s question, Mycroft felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. His neck snapped around to look directly at Molly as she answered the question.

It was obvious both Mycroft and John were doing the same calculation in their heads and they both reached the same conclusion at the same time. Mycroft let out a small groan. Was this why Sherlock had insisted he protect Molly at all costs? Because it was actually more than just Molly who Sherlock had left behind? The seconds that pasted between the question and the answer seemed like infinity to Mycroft.

"No."

“I know you think you might not be but ... If you and Sherlock …” John stopped took a deep breath and then continued, “…. Birth control can fail.”

“I'm not pregnant.”

John raised his eyebrows and gave a stern look at her.

“John. I'm a doctor. I'm not pregnant.”

Taking a deep breath, John gave a small smile at Molly. “Okay. But listen to me. I want you to eat and rest for the weekend – doctor’s orders.” 

Pointing a finger at her, John continued, “If you aren’t bouncing out of bed on Monday morning, I want you in my clinic that afternoon so I can do a full bloodwork. We need to get to the bottom of this in case it turns out to be more than just exhaustion. Deal?”

“Deal.” Molly smiled up at him.

Leaning down John gave her a kiss on the head, “And we’ll go down the pub for a pint when you are better.”

“I’d like that.”

John picked up his bag and headed to the front door, passing Mycroft who was now looking quite uncomfortable standing in Molly's living room. Once sure Molly couldn’t see him, John motioned for the other man to follow him out of the flat into the corridor by the elevator.

Out of earshot, he explained. 

“She’s exhausted, not eating and that's why she fainted. Although she insists that she isn’t, all signs point to pregnancy. But she could just be suffering from acute depression as well. Get her to eat something. If she is still like this on Monday when she comes in for blood work, I’ll give her a pregnancy test – even if she says she doesn't need one. I’m sure I can trust you to keep that between us.”

Mycroft nodded. “Thank you John.” He extended his hand.

John looked at the outstretched hand but made no move to take it. “I did this for Molly. Not you. No need to thank me. You have my number if she gets worse.” With that he turned and walked down the stairs.

After taking a deep breath and recomposing himself, Mycroft stepped back into Molly's flat.

Peeking into the bedroom, he found her asleep. Instead of waking her, he decided to go into the kitchen and make her something to eat.

//

“Dinner's ready.” Mycroft was standing next to Molly’s bed, holding a steaming omelette. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Wow. You cooked. That smells fantastic,” Molly pushed herself up into a sitting position and moved over a bit so Mycroft could sit down. He held a forkful of food up for her which she took instead of letting Mycroft feed her.

After eating all but the last two bites Molly took a drink of tea and lay back against the pillows.

“You are looking better already,” commented Mycroft, actually very relieved.

“It must be down to your culinary skills.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Mycroft put the plate on Molly’s nightstand.

A very uncomfortable silence fell.

Letting out a sigh, Molly spoke first. “I know you think I’m pregnant with Sherlock’s baby but I’m not. I know how babies happen. Sherlock and I never slept together.”

He held up his hand. “Please, Molly. You don’t have to explain this to me. I am not interested in your personal life.”

“But you are interested in your brother's. I could see it in your eyes when you were both staying here. You know he slept in here with me. But it was only sleep. Nothing else.”

“Nothing else then or nothing else ever?” The question came out too fast – Mycroft hated himself for needing to know the answer.

“We tried once,” Molly gave a small laugh. Mycroft noticed how the smile reached all the way up to her eyes. “Something had happened. I don’t remember what. I think we were just sick of people thinking there was something going on when there wasn't so we decided to try it. To see if there was anything. Sherlock brought over a bottle of Prosecco. We drank half the bottle and then ended up slightly more than just snogging on the couch.” 

Molly sighed. ”At some point his phone rang. It was John and what I had on offer didn’t hold up to the 8 that had just appeared in his inbox. We never bothered to try again. Apparently I’m no better than a 7.” 

Swallowing hard Molly looked down, embarrassed and played with the edge of the blanket.

“You are far more than a 7. Sherlock is stupid not to see that.” Mycroft resisted the urge to tuck a bit of stray hair behind Molly's ear.

“Thanks but in Sherlock’s eyes I’m not. After that, we gave up on anything else and just became best friends. Well, best in the sense that I would save his life while he spent his days humiliating me in my own lab. Then of course I helped kill him.” Molly snorted and rolled her eyes.

“When things would get too much for him, or on his danger nights he would come over and crawl into bed with me. He would insist on sleeping on the duvet, facing me and he would then spend the night holding on to my hand for dear life.”

“Ah. I see old habits die hard,” Mycroft had a far-off look in his eye. ”He and I used to do that when I would come home from school. As soon as I walked in the door I would have this little hand holding desperately onto mine. I couldn’t get a thing done. At night he would crawl into bed with me and all he wanted to do was sleep holding my hand. He was always worried I would leave him. Ironic isn’t it?”

The pair sat in silence, both thinking their own thoughts about Sherlock.

“There is no one else either,” Molly said very quietly.

“Molly. Please. I’m not asking ….”

“You are not asking. I am telling you.”

Mycroft wondered why he felt so oddly relieved when he heard her say this out loud. He quickly changed the subject.

“You are already looking much better. I have arranged for your flat to be to be cleaned, and laundry done in the next two hours. Tomorrow morning groceries will arrive – all you have to do is open the door. I have arranged for it all to be put away. Early afternoon I will stop over to see how you are doing.”

“Thank you, Mycroft. What would I do without you?”

“Don’t make a habit of this. I am horrible at taking care of people.”

“You seem to be doing a fine job so far.”

“I will assume you are going back to sleep shortly. Call me if you need anything. Promise?” Standing up Mycroft took the plate and cup and gave Molly a stern look.

“Promise," crossing her heart, she smiled up at him before rolling over on her side and snuggling deeper into her bed.

After taking the items back to the kitchen and putting on his coat, he checked on Molly one last time. Finding her asleep, he quietly let himself out of her flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are everyone! A big huge thanks to LVflick for her editing and advice!  
> Enjoy!


	13. An Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mr Holmes wishes me to ask if you will accompany him to Dorset this weekend."
> 
> A wave of shock rolled over Molly's face as her mouth fell open and her eyes grew large. She tried to get her head around the situation she suddenly found herself in.

Anthea was sitting in the back of Mycroft's car when he got in. On her lap was a slim file folder. 

It had been a long day and Mycroft was beginning to feel the beginnings of jetlag. The emotional roller coaster he had been on for three days was now taking its toll. He felt out of control – constantly running to catch up – and he hated this feeling. He needed to get to the bottom of what was happening with Molly for his own sanity - sooner rather than later. 

"How did it go?"

"Her flat is a total mess. She is exhausted and John suspects she's pregnant."

"Sherlock's?"

"She claims she isn't pregnant by Sherlock or anyone else."

"Why the phone call then?"

"No idea. She was too busy fainting. The phone call has become yet another symptom, not the actual disease."

Anthea nodded knowingly. 

Holding out his hand without explanation, Mycroft's long thin fingers curled around the file folder Anthea handed him automatically. 

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for what he was about to learn about the car and its occupants that had been outside Molly's flat.

After a few moments, Mycroft closed the folder and pinched his nose. The effects of operating on very little sleep and jetlag were definitely taking their toll now. He had so been hoping it was going to be something easy, like arresting someone. Instead, three days on, he still knew nothing more. 

The woman who lived on the floor below Molly was being blackmailed by her ex-husband and the occupants of the car were busy watching their target. Nothing to do with Molly at all. 

"Keep looking, Anthea. There has to be something that we are missing." Mycroft handed the folder back to his assistant and they continued the journey in silence. 

//

Molly's flat was clean and tidy. Her laundry was all clean, folded and put away. Dinner had been made and left for her which she ate before watching a bit of TV and crawling back into a bed made up with fresh sheets. 

Her hopes that tonight would be different now that Mycroft was back were soon dashed. It was 23:56 and once again Molly found herself standing at her bedroom window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks, her nose running. Her lips were moving, repeating a mantra: "I will not call Mycroft. I will not call Mycroft. I will not call Mycroft."

Two hours later, unable to keep her eyes open any longer, Molly fell asleep on the couch with the TV on. 

//

As promised Mycroft arrived at Molly's flat in the early afternoon the next day. He was pleased that soon after his gentle knock, the door was opened. 

A smile crossed Mycroft's face as he scanned Molly from head to toe. A week of not eating had caused Molly to lose a few pounds, and she looked a bit tired but her eyes were bright again.

"Much better than yesterday,” Mycroft remarked as he stepped into the flat.

"You can take all the credit," proclaimed Molly as she went into the kitchen to make them tea. "I believe I owe you a cup of tea. I'm sorry it's a day late."

Mycroft had followed Molly into the kitchen and he silently watched her making the tea. No nervousness or awkwardness. 

"How has work been, Molly?"

With tea cups in hand, they were now seated in the living room with Molly curled up on her couch, legs tucked under her. Mycroft sat in the leather chair.

"Oh. Same old. Same old. The usual stuff really."

"Nothing out of the ordinary ...."

"Um. No."

"Nothing unusual ..."

"Mycroft, what are you trying to figure out?"

"Something isn't right, Molly. And for some reason you aren't telling me what is going on."

Molly studied her tea before answering. "I don't know what you are talking about."

Taking a deep breath, Mycroft continued to look pointedly at her. Then he shook his head and sighed. "Okay. Fine. If you say so. Are you seeing John tomorrow?" 

"He rang earlier and apparently I answered all of his questions correctly so I've been given a reprieve. I promised to visit my own doctor in a week if I'm still feeling tired. But like I said, thanks to you, I seem to have gotten over the worst." After taking a sip of tea, Molly gave Mycroft a small smile. 

"A pleasure ..." Mycroft was interrupted by a text arriving. "Excuse me, I need to check this." The tone had alerted Mycroft that the message was from Anthea. 

[SMS: I have found something.]

Mycroft made his excuses and left Molly's flat as fast as he could. 

Once inside his car, he rang Anthea. 

"And?" Mycroft listened intently as his car began the drive back to his house. 

"Well done. I know exactly how to fix this."

//

It was Tuesday afternoon. Molly was intently looking into a microscope, carefully analysing a sample from Mr Williams when she heard a discreet "ahem" to her left.

Feeling slightly annoyed by the interruption, Molly looked over to see Mycroft's assistant standing next to her.

"Oh hello Anthea. Sorry I didn't see you come in."

Anthea was looking rather bored, as if she would rather be anywhere else in the world than standing here in Molly's presence. In hopes of making things better, Molly gave the other woman a small smile.

"What brings you to my lab?"

"Mr Holmes wishes me to ask if you will accompany him to Dorset this weekend."

A wave of shock rolled over Molly's face as her mouth fell open and her eyes grew large. She tried to get her head around the situation she suddenly found herself in.

"Mycroft … wants me to … go away with him for the weekend …. " she stammered. "And he sent you to ask me?" Molly found both the offer to go away and being asked to do so by the British government's PA quite unsettling.

"Yes."

Anthea's Blackberry began buzzing furiously. Looking at the small screen, she let out an exasperated sigh. "He wants me to clarify it is not a weekend away, but you accompanying him on his quarterly retreat."

The Blackberry buzzed again. "Although Mr Holmes refuses to call it a retreat and insists on calling it 'Mycroft's Exile,'" Anthea explained through gritted teeth while she made exaggerated air quotations with her hands in frustration. 

Molly swallowed a small giggle. "What?"

"As you know Mr Holmes works very hard and he finds it difficult ... (phone buzz) ... impossible … to shut off and relax on his own. In conjunction with medical advice ... (phone buzz) ....whose provider I most certainly was not sleeping with at that time despite what Mr Holmes believes .. it was decided that each quarter, Mr Holmes would take a short ... (phone buzz) ... Mr Holmes is keen to point out he finds the long weekend excessive and feels spending a few quiet hours in the Silent Room of the Diogenes Club is equally beneficial … retreat which is necessary for his long-term health."

"Let me get this straight. You make Mycroft go somewhere alone for the weekend? For his own good?” Molly thought this was getting more and more absurd.

"Yes. Mr Holmes is dropped off at this house ... (phone buzz) .... prison … in Dorset and his car picks him up on Sunday ... (phone buzz). .... And despite what he says, the car will arrive after Noon and not before."

"Where is he? Are we on speaker phone?"

"No. He is watching the CCTV feeds and reading lips."

"Why didn't he come here and ask me to go away with him himself?"

"National crisis. He is currently in a meeting with the prime minister."

"If he has to go by himself ... Why have I been invited?"

"It has come to Mr Holmes' attention that you have not had a holiday recently and this could be a contributing factor to your recent bout of exhaustion. He asked if you would be allowed to accompany him. And I agreed … (phone buzz) … his jailer agreed.” Anthea rolled her eyes and let out another dramatic sigh.

"What does he do on his retreat?” Molly asked anxiously.

"No idea. The house has no cameras and all of his communications are switched off for the duration of his stay. He has no access to the outside world and it has no access to him.”

"Well. Uh. It is very kind of him to offer … but … um ..”

(Phone buzz)

"He wants me to assure you has no intention of seducing you. (Phone buzz) And I quote ‘If I wanted to seduce her I certainly wouldn't feel it necessary to travel to Dorset to do so.'

Anthea looked at Molly in anticipation.

"Um. Um ... " Molly looked flustered and managed to knock a small stack of files off the edge of the lab station she was working at. The A4 sheets of paper fluttered like leaves into a large pile onto the lab floor between the two women.

Both knelt to retrieve the papers from the floor. Her face turned down towards the floor Molly asked, "Anthea, is it safe? I mean … will I be okay?”

In her mind, Anthea congratulated Molly for her very, very clever handling of this situation. She had no doubt Molly would be just fine. Keeping her face down as well, Anthea replied, "Yes, Doctor Hooper. He is a gentleman. No harm will come to you.

After the papers had been gathered and giving Anthea her thanks, Molly smoothed her hair and looking directly at the other woman. "I ….I'll go then” she replied with a half-smile.

"Excellent. You will be picked up at 6am on Friday. I will pack for you while you're at work on Thursday. All of the necessary leave paperwork will be filled out prior to your departure. Leave it all to me.”

Anthea turned and left without saying goodbye, leaving Molly to wonder if this was about to be the worst mistake of her life.

//  
It was 8:45am on Friday morning as the car Mycroft was riding in pulled up next to an identical vehicle at a service station on the A31. Mycroft got out of his vehicle and into the backseat of the second car. He carried with him the last bits of work - just finished before his retreat officially began. 

"How is your trip going so far?” Anthea briefly looked up from her Blackberry as her boss slid into the seat next to her.

"Remarkably uneventful,” came his surprised reply as he looked over to the original car.

"Managing the small talk?” asked Anthea with a smirk.

"There hasn't been any so far."

There was a shocked look on his assistant's face.

"She fell asleep even before we crossed the M25.”

Looking at Mycroft, Anthea could see this had unsettled him. Mycroft had been sure that a short holiday was what Molly needed. He had anticipated that this trip would have had her relieved and excited for a break – not cause her to sleep more than ever.

Mycroft sighed and handed his briefcase over to Anthea then he opened the car door and got out.

"See you Sunday. Good luck!” Anthea smiled back impishly at him before he shut the door. Mycroft watched as the car drove off.

"Why on earth is she wishing me good luck?” Mycroft wondered. He took a deep breath then slowly walked the short distance to his car. Opening the door and sliding back into the seat, he found that Molly had not been disturbed at all by their short stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to Lvfick for editing and etc. :)


	14. Sleeping Beauty

Molly took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes.

“Sleeping Beauty awakes,” as he spoke Mycroft was looking out of the car window and not at Molly.

‘Uh. Yea. Sorry. Doctor’s curse. I can sleep anywhere.” Molly gave a small stretch.

The two continued on in silence as the car moved through a small seaside town. Moving towards the sea, the car turned into a drive and stopped in front of a small two story house.

“We’re here," announced Mycroft with an air of resignation.

The driver opened Molly’s door, then took the bags into the house. Mycroft remained outside, watching as his car drove away. With a sigh he led Molly into his house and closed the front door.

“Well. Here we are. I believe you need a tour.” After hanging their coats up on the hooks just inside the door, Molly followed Mycroft as he wandered into each room explaining to her where everything was and various things she might need to know in order to make her stay comfortable.

The small house was decorated in the style of a seaside cottage with a colour scheme of mint green, navy blue, beige and white. Dotted around were carefully chosen nautical accents. It didn't look like some of the rooms had ever been used --nothing was out of place and no personal effects anywhere. It could have easily been a show home or featured in an interior design magazine. 

Just as the two returned to the front hall, a very excited dog suddenly appeared outside of the french doors in the sitting room. It was barking and chasing its tail with excitement having seen Mycroft. 

“Oh! You've got a dog!” exclaimed Molly.

With another exasperated sigh Mycroft opened the doors and let the spaniel in. 

“No. I don’t have a dog. The caretaker does. Mr Green and his wife live next door. Henry is their dog. Anthea insists that he is sent over when I arrive. She thinks that it is good for me.“ Henry was now sitting in front of Mycroft, his tail beating on the ground, looking up with dark brown eyes pleading for a head rub. Rolling his eyes Mycroft gave Henry a perfunctory pat on the head which pleased the dog to no end.

“Can we take him out?” Henry had now moved on to Molly --she was giving him a vigorous tummy rub which he was delighted with.

“You may do whatever you want with him."

“I’m going to throw Henry his ball. Do you want to come?”

“No.”

“Okay suit yourself.”

Molly quickly unpacked then took Henry out into the garden.

//

After his unpacking was finished, Mycroft positioned himself in a chair slightly away from the windows. He pretended to read a book while in fact he spent most of his time watching Molly as she laughed and ran around the garden repeatedly throwing a tennis ball to an over-joyed Henry. By the time she came in her cheeks were rosy and her hair was coming out of her pony tail.

“It’s fantastic out there. You should come,” announced Molly pulling off her shoes as she came into the house.

“No thank you,” replied Mycroft as he returned to pretending to read his book. 

“I’m making tea. Do you want one?” Molly was standing in the doorway of the sitting room.

“No. I’m fine.”

Molly returned in a few minutes with a huge mug of tea and three biscuits – one of which she handed to Mycroft as she passed by him on the way to the couch. Taking a seat she curled herself up so she had a good view of the sea.

“This place is wonderful. Why do you hate it so much?”

Mycroft’s eyes flicked up to look at her. “I don’t hate the place. I hate the fact that I am forced to come here against my will.” He took a bite of the biscuit.

“Why is that so bad?”

“Molly do you plan on playing psychiatrist all weekend?

"It depends on if you just sit in your chair pretending to read all weekend." Molly turned her attention to her latest knitting project ignoring the shocked look on Mycroft's face.

Picking up his book, Mycroft actually began to read while Molly knitted away with a snoring Henry curled up next to her on the couch. 

//

"Right. Get your coat. We're taking Henry for a walk on the beach."

Molly was standing in front of Mycroft holding Henry's lead. He shook his head as he tried to re-engage himself. Looking at his watch ... and the amount of knitting on Molly's needles ... he had been fully absorbed in his book for hours. Mycroft started to protest but was stopped. 

"Dr's orders. All this sitting isn't good for you. You must get out into the fresh air and have a walk at least once a day."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed on Molly and his jaw clinched but he got up and put on his coat. 

Forty-five minutes later on an isolated beach Mycroft stopped walking. There was no heat left in the late afternoon sun and the wind was picking up. After taking a handful of steps more Molly turned back to see Mycroft staring out into the sea. She walked back to him. 

"Now would be an excellent time to ask me." His gaze remained fixed on a point on the horizon.

"Ask you what?" Molly picked up the wet stick and threw it back into the sea for Henry. 

"About the current state of our mutual friend." Mycroft's eyes flicked to Molly. 

Shrugging her shoulders, "I have no questions. He's alive. That is the best I can hope for at this point."

"And how exactly can you be sure he is alive?" Mycroft's hands were shoved deep into his pockets as he shrugged his shoulders to brace himself against the wind. 

"I can see it in your eyes."

Mycroft frowned at Molly. 

"You are lonely. But not sad. If he was dead you would be sad."

Mycroft remained silent. 

"I don't need to know the specifics. I'm sure you two have some system set up so you know that he is at least alive." Molly gave Mycroft a small smile then then turned her attention back to Henry and his stick.

"You are correct. We should be getting back. Mrs Green will have dinner waiting for us." Mycroft then turned and headed back to his house leaving Molly to wonder just how many things she was correct about. 

//

Standing in the kitchen in front of the open dishwasher Mycroft looked at his watch -it was only 8:15pm. There was a lot of time left before he could go to bed and all he wanted to do was drink a fair portion of his favorite scotch but he had a feeling Dr Hooper wasn't going to allow that to happen.

"Did you see Forbrydelsen?" asked Molly as she brought in the plates from the dining room.

Taking the plates Mycroft gave them a rinse before putting them into the dishwasher.

"You mean The Killing? No I haven't seen it. Apparently it was very good."

Molly had now returned with her hands full of glasses and cutlery.

"Why do you ask?" 

Molly responded to his question with a sly smile and then left Mycroft to finish filling the dishwasher.

When she returned she had a DVD box set and a bag of microwave popcorn in her hands.

"Don't tell Anthea. I'm pretty sure she said no TV -- but she didn't say no DVDs."

A small smile crossed Mycroft's face as he opened up the cupboard and took down a large bowl for the popcorn. 

//

The credits were rolling on the third episode of Forbrydelsen when Mycroft yawned and looked at his watch. He was surprised to find that the evening had vanished despite the lack of alcohol. 

He got up slowly from his chair, stretched and walked over to the couch where Molly was cured up -her eyes closed. "Do you want to go up to bed or sleep here?"

"Bed," came the sleepy reply followed by a yawn. Soon Molly pushed herself up and stumbled past Mycroft on her way upstairs. Her eyes never fully opened.

" 'Night Mycroft," called Molly from halfway up the stairs.

"Goodnight Molly. Sleep well." Mycroft responded as he picked up the popcorn bowl and glasses to take them back into the kitchen. 

//

Mycroft was not sure what time it was. He had instantly awakened when the door to his room opened.

He pretended to still be asleep -only opening his eyes slightly when the sound of soft footsteps stopped in front of the window. The person who had entered Mycroft’s room had taken a seat in chair by the window. Whoever it was had been crying and was now on the verge of hyperventilating. He remained still and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Slowly Molly's form came into focus.

“Mm ... mm .... my …croft?” Molly said haltingly.

“Yes.” Mycroft opened his eyes fully. He could see Molly in her robe, sitting down with her arms wrapped protectively around her.

“I… I …. Just need to sit here for a bit okay?”

“Not okay,” replied Mycroft with little emotion in his voice.

“Wh .. why?” Mycroft could tell the tears were about to flow again.

“Sitting there won’t help in the state you are in,” Mycroft flipped open the duvet exposing an empty space in his bed to Molly. “Come.”

Molly didn't move --her breath still shuddering.

“Now,” said Mycroft firmly.

Slowly Molly approached the bed and crawled in with her robe on. Mycroft flipped the duvet back over her. Molly’s breathing was still coming in jolts.

“You are shaking the bed,” said Mycroft softly.

“S...ss…sss...sorry.”

With a small grunt Mycroft moved closer to Molly and draped his arm around her middle. It was impossible for her to interpret it as affectionate. It was only intended to make her feel like she was not alone. That was all it was.

In a matter of minutes Molly took a deep breath and her breathing became normal again. Mycroft could feel her relax and gently sink into him. Soon she was now fast asleep.

Mycroft on the other hand was now wide awake --knowing he was not going to get any answers until the morning.


	15. Breakfast in bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a look of utter disgust on Mycroft's face, "'What goes on tour, stays on tour?'" he said mockingly. "This was not some drunken rugby team jolly we were on Molly. You needed my help weeks ago and if you wouldn't have been so bloody minded we would not be in this situation."

Dusk was creeping up on London like a grey cat. The air had taken on a slight chill but neither man sitting on top of St Barts noticed. Below were the usual sounds of the inner city with the occasional wail of an ambulance siren, again, ignored by both.

Two men sat facing each other in leather club chairs and between them, on a small round table, a china tea set, no biscuits.

Mycroft lifted the fine bone china cup with a delicate rim of silver up to his lips and took a small sip of the milky tea as he stared at the other man.

"He's only been gone a few months and you've managed to get his pet into bed. Well done you." Sitting cross-legged in the chair opposite a ghostly pale James Moriarty gave Mycroft a wink and a smirk.

"It's not like that."

Scrunching up his nose and giving the tiniest of nods, Moriarty picked an invisible piece of fluff off his impeccable Westwood suit.

"Oh. Sure. Try telling that to Sherlock." Moriarty raised his own cup to his lips then paused, "Or perhaps that's what brothers do - ‘share their toys’ just like Mummy used to insist?" Grinning, he took a sip of tea.

"It is not like that."

"I heard you the first time," replied Moriarty calmly. "We make such a good team, don't we? I kill him. She goes and saves him." Moriarty rolled his eyes. "Now you take one of his favourite playthings away."

Taking another sip of tea, Mycroft glared over the rim of his cup.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think we are on the same side you and I."

"No," replied Mycroft sternly.

"I am such a nightmare," Moriarty replied in an over-the-top camp voice, "but I wouldn't have lost my brother's favourite security blanket."

He looked at Mycroft pointedly. "No, no, no. Most certainly would not have let that happen. Especially when he asked me to look after it," tutted Moriarty.

Icy cold fear seeped into Mycroft and before he could speak, Moriarty was in his face and screaming, "SHE'S GONE! AND IT'S YOUR FAULT."

Mycroft's eyes snapped open as he sat bolt upright in bed gasping for breath, trying to bring his racing heart rate back under control. His gaze dropped the right, then the left.

He was in bed alone.

//

 

Molly had just finished spreading strawberry jam on top of a fresh scone when she saw Mycroft enter the small cafe. He was wearing a tweed suit, complete with waist coat and plaid shirt under a waxed jacket.

Immediately Molly was filled with tension. Her original motive for leaving before he had woken up was to save both of them the embarrassment of waking up together in bed after she had barged in and ended up spending the night in his arms.

Given what she had done, Molly thought he would have been happy to have her out of the house for a few hours before he had to face her. She most certainly had not anticipated him coming after her.

Mycroft approached Molly's table, pulled out the wooden chair and sat down across from her but said nothing.

His heart rate was slightly elevated and his hair still damp, observed Molly as she took a bite of scone without saying a word.

The server appeared and Mycroft ordered the same as Molly: pot of English breakfast tea and two fresh scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream.

It wasn't until after his tea had arrived that Mycroft spoke.

"I found your note in the kitchen." Taking a sip of tea, his gaze remained on Molly and he re-read the note in his mind's eye: M- Have gone out exploring for the day. Will be back around tea time. Xx Molly

"What is on our agenda for today?" His tone was neutral.

"Ah ... well ... I …" stammered Molly due to the "our" in the sentence. "I have found two local museums. My guess is they will be small so won't take very long. Then some lunch and then maybe shopping? I’m sorry. I just got some ideas from the guidebook," Molly explained as she dug through her bag to show him the book. "I had no idea that you would be joining me. Nothing is set in stone. We can do something else if you rather," she added hesitantly.

By now Mycroft's scones had arrived and he was spreading a thick layer of clotted cream on his first half.

"It all sounds perfectly reasonable, although I insist on choosing lunch." Molly agreed to this stipulation with a shocked nod and a comfortable silence fell between them.

//

The first museum was tiny, not more than three rooms in a house so didn't keep them long even though they read all of the plaques throughout the display. Although he was trying to do it secretly Molly spied Mycroft depositing a generous donation in the collection box on the way out. Molly smiled to herself as she thought that perhaps there was more to Mycroft than met the eye.

After a short walk the pair arrived at the second and more substantial museum. Much to Mycroft's surprise he learned two new facts and found three errors which he delighted in pointing out to some poor junior staff member. Eventually Molly dragged him away while insisting she would write the letter herself to the board of the museum, highlighting which plaques needed to be changed.

Back out on the pavement in front of the museum Mycroft looked at his watch. "Guidebook." He was standing next to Molly with his hand out.

Retrieving the book from the bottom her bag, she handed it over the Mycroft who flicked through the book, had a quick look at the map, and then announced enigmatically "Follow me."

Lunch was in a hole-in-the-wall with four tables and no menu. It looked of nothing but the food was amazing. After both were well and truly stuffed their gait slowed as they meandered once again along the High Street of the small coastal town.

At one point, Molly slipped her hand in to the crook of Mycroft's arm to pull him back to look in a window. He subconsciously squeezed her hand between his arm and body, not letting it slip out as they moved once again to the next window.

A short while later Molly spied the clothes shop she had been looking for. She noticed that Mycroft neither rolled his eyes nor acted in any pain when she told him she wanted to go into the shop.

Once inside, Mycroft wandered off and effortlessly flicking through the racks of clothes created two outfits for Molly (in exactly her size) before she had even finished looking through the sales rack. He smiled as she bought both outfits. Although Mycroft did not try to pay he did insist on carrying the bag.

After leaving the shop Molly’s hand once again found its way into the crook of Mycroft's arm as they walked up the winding road to his house.

//

"Looks like we made it home just in time!" exclaimed Molly as she came into the sitting room from the kitchen. Outside of the large window the pair could see storm clouds gathering over the sea. She handed Mycroft one of the mugs of tea - keeping the other balanced on a plate of chocolate biscuits.

After putting the plate on the coffee table she curled up on the sofa. "It's getting chilly."

"You might find this useful." Mycroft handed Molly a bag with a shop name they had visited after lunch.

"What is this?" questioned Molly as she pulled a tissue-wrapped parcel out of the bag.

Mycroft didn't answer but instead simply watched as Molly's eyes became huge as she pulled out the dove grey cashmere wrap she had admired earlier.

“You deserve it. And don't say it's too expensive. Considering everything ...." Mycroft let the sentence trail off.

"It's wonderful. I love it. Thank you." Molly walked over and put her arms around Mycroft to give him a hug. Standing up on tiptoes she placed a kiss on Mycroft's cheek.

Instantly she felt Mycroft's guard rise against at her advances. Looking up she saw confusion in his eyes.

"Oh. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that," Molly stammered. "It meant thank you. That's all. Sorry."

As she tried to slip away Mycroft instinctively reached out and pulled her back to him. He tentatively raised his hand and laid it gently on her arm. "It is I who should offer my sincerest apologies." He forced a smile and turned his attention back to his tea and the storm brewing outside.

//

 

After what was an early dinner and only three episodes of Forbrydelsen, Mycroft woke to find Molly cuddled up in her new wrap, softly snoring on the far end of the sofa.

"Come on time for bed." Mycroft gave Molly a shake to wake her up as he yawned and stretched.

Molly sat up shocked. "Oh! Sorry I didn't realise. All the fresh air ..."

Giving her a gentle look, Mycroft got off the couch, picked up the empty cups and popcorn bowl and headed into the kitchen calling after her "Goodnight Molly."

//

All of the pieces of the puzzle fell into place while Mycroft was brushing his teeth: the panicked phone call, exhaustion, sleeping in Mycroft’s car, the visit last night.

Finishing quickly he strode out of his room and straight down the hall to Molly's room. He gave three sharp knocks and then entered without waiting for an invitation.

The room was dark and Molly, in her pyjamas and robe, was standing at the window with her arms folded across her chest. She didn't turn around as he approached her until he was standing directly behind her.

"I didn't get it wrong earlier. You do want to share my bed, but you don't want to sleep with me," stated Mycroft with a quiet firm tone.

Taking a deep breath, Molly's shoulders sank and she let her head bob forward in a resigned nod.

Wordlessly Mycroft took Molly's hand and led her down the hall into his room.

//

"Mycroft what are you doing?" squeaked Molly grabbing at Mycroft's hands. They were standing beside his still perfectly made bed.

"I am taking your robe off so we can go to bed." His tone was boarding on exasperated.

"Wait," Molly was holding Mycroft's wrists her small hands barely managing to wrap fully around them. "It’s just ... I ... Give me a minute," she stammered.

"I am embarrassed it took me this long to figure it out," replied Mycroft making no effort to remove his wrists from Molly's grasp. "You realised weeks ago that if we managed to save Sherlock's life it is quite possible that Moriarty is still alive. After all, that day we were trying to keep someone alive. Not make sure someone was dead.”

Molly gulped, and took a deep breath.

"Moriarty has become a nightmare. Both figuratively and in your case, actually. I cannot promise that he is not out there but I can promise that here in this house, and in my company you are safe."

"I also know you need a good night's sleep. We both do." He added emphatically.

Mycroft felt Molly loosen the grip on his wrists as she let him undo the tie on her robe. Placing the robe over a chair he then his took his own robe off the hung it back up on the peg in the en suite.

Nervously Molly stood by the bed and watched as Mycroft opened the cover and glanced at the bed indicating she should crawl in. She remained where she was.

"Heaven's sake woman this is exactly where you slept most of last night!"

A giggle at Mycroft's uncharacteristic outburst escaped before she could stop it. To save Mycroft from any further embarrassment she crawled into bed then Mycroft pulled up the covers and tucked her in.

"Comfy?" he asked slightly exasperated.

"Yes thank you," replied Molly flat on her back looking up at Mycroft who was now sitting next to her on the edge of the bed. "Aren't you getting into bed?"

Reaching over Mycroft switched off the bedside table light, "In a moment," he replied after the room was dark. Once his eyes adjusted he laid both of his hands on Molly's face. He gave a gentle "Ssshhhh," to quiet the questions tumbling from her mouth as he rubbed her temples, along her jaw and down the back of her neck.

Molly let out a soft groan.

"Let yourself relax. You are safe. I will not let anything happen to you. Nor will I do anything to you without your complete consent.” Under his fingers he could feel Molly sink further down into the mattress.

"You should have told me," stated Mycroft firmly but gently, as his thumbs rubbed Molly's jaw line.

"I couldn’t," came the almost sleeping response. "You are Mycroft Holmes and have far more important things to worry about than someone like me having silly nightmares."

"That isn't true," whispered Mycroft shortly after he heard Molly's first soft snores.

//

It was the searing pain in Molly’s left hip that woke her up. Slowly she opened her eyes. Mycroft’s bedroom was still dark and only a few birds were twittering outside. The clock on the bedside table read 4:48am.

As soon as she shifted to ease the pain Mycroft hissed in her ear, “Don’t move!”

“Why?” she asked in a terrified whisper sure there was a serpent in the bed or a sniper somewhere in the house.

“Because I cannot remember being more comfortable,” mumbled Mycroft very much still asleep.

With a laughing snort Molly looked down to find Mycroft’s arms protectively around her and the cause of her pain: his left leg draped over her hip.

“Your left leg is too heavy. Either up or off.” was the stern choice as she wiggled her hip enough to keep Mycroft just awake.

After a long humming sigh indicating he was contemplating his options Mycroft opted to move his leg up – which caused his long leg to slip effortlessly into the curve of Molly’s hip and dip down onto the bed rather effectively trapping her.

“Unbelievable,” sighed Mycroft to an already sleeping Molly. “That’s even better.”

//

Taking a deep breath Molly slowly began to wake up. Her back was warm and fully pressed up against something strong and supportive.

Mycroft.

Instantly a shot of adrenaline hit her as she remembered that once again she wasn't waking up either alone or in her own room. She sat up with a start and looked frantically around her.

Much to her surprise she found Mycroft sitting up in bed next to her reading the Sunday paper; his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. She had been wedged up against his right thigh.

Looking over at her he simply said, "Good morning Molly. I trust you slept well."

"Yes I did. Thank you." Molly's gaze dipped self-consciously as she wished she had her robe on to cover herself more -- even though Mycroft had seen her in her pyjamas many times, none of them had been after waking up in bed with her.

"There is a cup of tea on the nightstand for you and when you are ready there are scones and orange juice for us over there." Mycroft motioned to the table near the window without looking up from his paper. "I was waiting until you woke up."

"Oh. Thank you. I didn't expect breakfast in bed."

"Just because we did not have intercourse does not mean you do not deserve breakfast in bed." Mycroft's attention remained on the newspaper.

With a shy smile Molly slipped out of bed grabbed her robe and excused herself. A few moments later she re-appeared with, Mycroft noted, freshly brushed hair and teeth. She brought the tray over to the bed, handed it to Mycroft then crawled back into bed.

They were half-way through with breakfast when Mycroft decided to broach the subject both had been ignoring.

"We are going back to London in a little under two hours ..."

Molly interrupted, now blushing and embarrassed as she remembered her actions over the last two nights. "I know what you are going to say, 'What goes on tour stays on tour.' Don't worry. I get it. It won't happen again."

There was a look of utter disgust on Mycroft's face, "'What goes on tour, stays on tour?'" he said mockingly. "This was not some drunken rugby team jolly we were on Molly. You needed my help weeks ago and if you wouldn't have been so bloody minded we would not be in this situation."

"You mean we would not be having breakfast in bed together in your secret house in Dorset having not had sex for two nights in a row?" Molly was giggling as her tongue flicked out to catch a drip of strawberry jam sliding down the side of her scone.

"Yes. Exactly my point." Mycroft's expression had softened as he watched Molly now licking off her fingertips. He handed her a cloth napkin. "Now, if you would be so kind as to keep your sports team advice to yourself until I finish. I was going to say, we are going to be back in London soon and I expect you to ring me when you need help - with anything - and let me decide if it is beneath me." Mycroft gave Molly as stern a look as he could while licking his own bit of strawberry jam sliding down the side of his scone.

"Mycroft that is very generous but I don't want to be any trouble."

"It won't be any trouble." Mycroft added quietly, "Isn't this what friends do?"

"Yes. Yes it is Mycroft." Smiling Molly resisted the urge to hug him not wanting to push her luck.

//

As soon as it was noon and Mycroft's comms were turned back on his phone began to ping with alerts. He had to go to the West Country so she would travel back to London alone.

Her bag was already tucked into the boot as Mycroft opened the rear car door for her.

"Safe journey, Molly. Thank you for a lovely weekend." Mycroft gave her a poiite nod, followed by a stern look. "Remember. I expect you to call me." The Ice Man was back.

"I promise," she said as she smiled, tucking herself into the back of his car After closing her door he stood in the driveway and watched his car drive away.

Mycroft then walked over to his second car and got into the back seat and settled himself in next to Anthea.

Briefly looking up from her Blackberry, Anthea shot Mycroft a questioning look.

"Significantly better than I could have imagined. I discovered and rectified Dr. Hooper's mysterious issue and dare I say ... made a friend."

Putting her Blackberry down, Anthea looked at her boss with utter astonishment.

"I feel exactly the same way my dear," muttered Mycroft as the countryside began to fly past his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the lovely comments and for still reading! Also huge thanks to Thinkture for everything :) Enjoy!


	16. And So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am not ready for you to be my girlfriend,” he said quietly, “but I also would not like to come back to find someone else having dinner with you on Tuesday nights.” Mycroft reached across the table and laid his hand on Molly’s wrist.
> 
> Looking up their eyes met causing Molly’s cheeks to burn. She nodded and took a nervous sip of wine. “You don’t have to worry. There is no one else. No one even likely. And I … would ask the same of you … no one else until we figure this out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Amythe3lder for being my beta for this chapter!

The sheets were scratchy. Unfathomably, the single pillow was both flat and lumpy. Only marginal warmth was given by the two thin blankets covering him. With a resigned sigh Mycroft rolled over again searching for a comfortable position. Despite the sparse conditions, deep in an Embassy compound far away from his beloved England the fact that he could not sleep was due to one person -- Anthea.

//

After their trip to Dorset, it was three days before he and Molly saw each other again.

The dinner Mycroft was attending had over-run, making it difficult to oversee that other situation he had been keeping an eye on which was, once again, flaring up. By 11:30p he was exhausted and a small groan escaped his lips after the mobile phone ring startled him. He wondered who else needed a piece of him at this time of night.

"Yes," the word hinted at exasperation.

"Mycroft?" came the shaky voice from the other side of London. "Sorry. You're probably busy."

"Busy is not the word. But never mind that. I'll send a car. Be outside in 10 minutes."

"Maybe if we just talk a little, I don't want to ..."

Mycroft cut Molly off. "I am already talking to five people on three continents at the moment. The car will be there in 8 minutes. Be ready." And with that the line went dead.

//

Arriving at Mycroft's house with her small overnight bag, she was greeted warmly by his housekeeper. Molly marveled at how the woman didn't seem to bat an eye that it was the middle of the night, but then again Mycroft's house seemed to be filled with activity.

When she passed the drawing room she could hear Anthea speaking, and from Mycroft's office she could hear him shouting in a foreign language to someone and that person shouting back.

Molly, after being shown into the same guest room she had stayed in when she looked after Sherlock, immediately felt better. For the second time that night she got ready for bed.

A couple of hours later she was still only half asleep when she heard the door open. Through half closed eyes she watched Mycroft take off his jacket, waist coat and shoes then crawl onto the bed spooning her through the layers of duvet and sheets.

"Come to bed. You'll get cold," Molly murmured quietly.

"I can't. Just taking a break before the next conference call begins. You were almost asleep."

"I'm sorry. You don't need this."

"Don't apologise. I do need this." Mycroft fell instantly asleep.

//

SMS: Thanks for last night. Sorry you were so busy. –Molly

SMS: My pleasure. Did you get breakfast? –MH

SMS: Yes, your housekeeper made sure of it. Coffee? – Molly

SMS: I’m nowhere near London at the moment. Perhaps when I get back. –MH

SMS: Oh sorry! I didn’t know. Well, when you get back then. –Molly

SMS: Call if you need me. – MH

//

There had been a problem with air traffic control which had delayed his flight by three hours. Mycroft slumped in the back of his car. It had been a very long five days. But at least the situation was now under control and he could sleep in tomorrow. He pulled out his phone, turned it off airplane mode and- expecting nothing more this late at night- was slipping it into his pocket when a message arrived. Looking at the small screen he let out a dejected sigh, took a deep breath and asked his driver to turn around – he was needed on the other side of London.

Using his key, Mycroft slipped into Molly’s flat as quiet as a mouse. The text telling him about her anxiety and requesting his presence had been sent hours ago, but he didn’t have the heart to ignore it – even if it was a struggle to keep his eyes open. With great relief Mycroft found the flat dark and silent as he crept towards the open door of Molly’s bedroom. Peering in, he could see her fast asleep on top of the duvet in her robe, still holding a paperback book. Content that she was fine Mycroft took off his shoes, laid down and pulled the blanket Molly always kept across the back of the couch over himself. He was fast asleep in seconds.

//

“You could have come to bed.” Molly was curled up in a chair next to her sofa with her morning tea.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.” Mycroft's eyes were still closed as he responded.

“Ready for a cup of tea?”

“No."

This curt response was met with a giggle. “Okay. I am off to work. It would be nice to see you awake at some point. Meet me for coffee when you wake up."

“Okay,” followed by soft snoring.

//

It took Molly and Mycroft a few weeks for their new found friendship to settle into a rhythm that suited them both.

Soon it was discovered that the usual way a friendship worked – casual meetings and last minute plans- didn’t work for either of them.

Mycroft felt guilty when, after a day filled with meetings, long after Molly’s usual bed time he would pull his phone out of his pocket only to find a suggestion from Molly, sent mid-morning for a quick dinner that evening.

Occasionally, Mycroft spotted a pattern in Molly’s breaks and proudly arrived at St. Bart’s with two take-away teas only to be met by her lab assistant telling him that unfortunately Molly was elbow deep in an autopsy and wouldn’t be done for hours. Her lab assistant would end up with the tea and Mycroft would return back to his office, his mood subdued.

Eventually it was decided: Mycroft put dinner at Molly’s house on Tuesday for spag bol as a reoccurring event in his diary. Either could text during the day for a quick coffee and if the other hadn’t responded in 15 minutes – it wasn’t going to happen, and neither would take offense.

After about six weeks, it was Anthea who noticed an ever so slight shift in the friendship between Molly and Mycroft.

//

It was a sunny Sunday morning when Mycroft summoned Anthea to the tiny flat he kept near the office. Things were brewing half a world away and he needed her to collect information for him while he was on a conference call.

Anthea had arrived to find, as expected, his computer and her computer set up on the small round table in the corner. It was 15 minutes before the call was to start. What wasn’t expected was Molly curled up on the sofa doing the Times Sunday crossword. She was chewing on the tip of the pen deep in thought. When Anthea came in Molly briefly looked up, greeted Anthea with a warm smile and quickly turned back to the crossword.

Seeing Anthea’s shocked look before she could hide it Mycroft responded while he made three cups of tea, “Don’t worry. She doesn’t speak Russian and- as you well know- nothing of any importance is going to be said today anyway. Unfortunately.”

During the call, Anthea watched Mycroft. She noticed his attention never really left the person on the couch and the same could be said for Molly.

After the call was finished, Anthea asked, “Sir, do you want me to stay and transcribe meeting notes?”

“No thank you, Anthea. You can take the recording home. Once the crossword is finished we are going to out for a bit. It’s too nice a day to stay inside.”

It took a lot for Anthea’s jaw not to hit the ground.

//

Anthea appeared in Mycroft’s office at 4:30pm holding in her hand a take-away cup with “Steve” and “read your txt” written on it in black marker and a small paper bag containing a muffin that looked to be cranberry nut.

“Sir, these have just been delivered for you.”

Looking up from the files in front of him it took a few seconds for Mycroft’s eyes to focus. It had been a very tense six hours since news of consulate bombing had come through. A small smile appeared on his face as he took a sip of the coffee and pulled out his phone.

Anthea watched as her boss read his text. A full smile appeared on his face, while he took another sip from the paper cup, broke off a piece of muffin and turned his attention back to the file.

Feeling that Anthea hadn’t yet left, Mycroft held up the bag, “Muffin?”

“No. I am waiting to know why you are drinking out of a cup with the name ‘Steve’ on it.”

“I believe it is called an inside joke.”

Anthea made no move to leave.

Mycroft ate another piece of muffin. “Fine. It will come as no surprise to you that most coffee shop workers can barely spell their own names and ‘Mycroft’ has proved to be an insurmountable challenge to them. Once I brought Molly coffee and I gave the name Steve to the rocket-scientist posting as a barista who took my order. Molly thought it was very funny, and now it seems that when either of us order coffee the name we give is 'Steve.' Is my interrogation done?” Mycroft scowled across his desk.

Anthea reached into the bag, broke off a hunk of muffin and turned around, “Now it is.”

//

“Do I really have to go?”

“Unfortunately yes. You know that you are the only person who is capable of resolving this situation.”

“I know. But you know what happened the last time I left.”

“Sir, your trip to New York was now months ago. Molly is no longer plagued with nightmares. She will be fine.”

_But what about me?_ Mycroft wanted to ask.

“Are you ready to go through the special instructions?”

“Yes. Mummy is up for chair of her garden club next week. If she is elected, send her a small handtied bouquet and congratulations.” Anthea nodded as she made notes.

“Father is busy growing leeks to enter in the village fair. If there is torrential rain, enquire as to how this has affected them. It’s also Aunt Sandra’s birthday next Thursday, please send a card with my best wishes.”

“Very well,” Anthea replied as she wrote. “Any special instructions for your girlfriend?”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed on Anthea. “I do not have a girlfriend.”

Slightly taken aback Anthea apologized, “I am sorry sir … I just thought by now …”

“By now what? That I am incapable of simply having a friend who happens to be a female. That I need to somehow sexualize our relationship?”

“No … it’s just … you seem so happy and things seem to be going well. I assumed that you had taken the next step.”

“Next step? What does that mean? How does one demarcate ‘friend who happens to be female’ with ‘girlfriend’?”

“Have you kissed her?” was accompanied by a small shrug from Anthea.

“No. I have not kissed her yet.” As soon as that little word ‘yet’ slipped from his mouth, he realized the Freudian Slip he had made.

Neither said a word. Taking a deep breath Mycroft spoke softly, “Dr. Hopper is a lovely girl and I can not imagine that she would wish to be a “girlfriend” to someone old and grumpy such as myself. She is my friend. End of story.”

“Very well sir. If you have no special instructions in regards to Molly and she is not to be classified as your girlfriend, I am assuming you will want her status in the weekly report not in the daily briefing?”

Sometimes he hated Anthea. Really, really hated her.

“Keep her status in the daily briefing.”

“Very well sir. And will you be providing the surveillance team with updated parameters for her security?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, as you say, Molly is a lovely girl, and if she isn’t your girlfriend she might fancy dating someone who is not you. Do you wish to be alerted should there be another male that becomes interested in her while you are away, or should I just have him put in the Tower and you can decide what to do when you get back?”

“Very funny. Get out of my office,” scolded Mycroft as Anthea got up with a small smile on her face and went back to her desk.

As the door closed behind her Mycroft let out a small groan and- elbows on his desk- let his head fall into his hands. Over the past few months it had never occurred to him as an option, but now … he couldn’t get the idea of Molly as his girlfriend out of his mind.

//

“I had a very uncomfortable discussion with Anthea today.” Mycroft was setting the table while Molly plated up dinner in the kitchen.

“Um. What happened? Catch her stealing state secrets?”

“No. Far worse … “ Mycroft’s attention was now on opening up the bottle of white wine.

“She had assumed that you … that you were my girlfriend.” He delivered these words standing the middle of Molly’s kitchen staring at the back of Molly’s head while holding two wine glasses in one hand and the recently opened wine bottle in the other.

“Oh. Really? How strange?” By the way she didn’t look at him Mycroft could tell she was as embarrassed by this has he had been earlier. Molly continued to dish up the food onto the two waiting plates.

“Exactly. I told her she was wrong. That you are my female friend and this does not automatically make your my girlfriend.”

“That is very true. Come, we should eat before the food gets cold,” Carrying two plates of food to the dining table, Molly nervously brushed by Mycroft without looking at him.

Molly started to eat as soon as she sat down obviously not sure what to say.

Taking a deep breath Mycroft started to address the sudden elephant in the room. “I have to go away and I don’t really know for how long.”

Her eyes flicked up high enough to see Mycroft nervously twirling a few strands of spaghetti on his fork. Molly hadn’t seen him look this nervous for months – since he thought Sherlock was going to die in his house.

“I am not ready for you to be my girlfriend,” he said quietly, “but I also would not like to come back to find someone else having dinner with you on Tuesday nights.” Mycroft reached across the table and laid his hand on Molly’s wrist.

Looking up their eyes met causing Molly’s cheeks to burn. She nodded and took a nervous sip of wine. “You don’t have to worry. There is no one else. No one even likely. And I … would ask the same of you … no one else until we figure this out.”

“Agreed.” Mycroft took a long sip of wine.

The tension in the room was now broken and two continued with their pleasant dinner.

//

“You will come to find that I am far too old and surly for you. Dating me is not for the faint hearted,” teased Mycroft as he took the plates into the kitchen after dinner.

“Have there been many girlfriends?” asked Molly as she loaded the dishwasher. Mycroft remained silent and looked deep in thought for a few moments before he replied, leaving Molly to wonder if this was due to the number of girlfriends or if he was determining how much to tell her.

“Over the years there are been various women of who have entered my life, but only two of significance. And when the time came, both decided that entering into a serious relationship with me was far too great a challenge for them.”

“I’m sorry.” Suddenly Molly was very embarrassed for asking what she thought was an innocent question.

“Don’t be. If either of them had taken me up on my offer, it is quite possible I would not be here today. And I suspect my brother would be dead,” replied Mycroft matter-of-factly.

With the dinner things all put away, Mycroft wiped his hands on a tea towel and then gathered up his things to go.

”I don’t know if I will see you again before I leave.” Mycroft explained as he put on his coat.

“I know. I will miss you.” Molly smiled at him. “Come home soon.”

As they were standing at the door, Molly surprised him by giving him a lingering hug and a small chaste kiss on the lips. It was over before Mycroft could respond.

Quickly Molly pulled away and ran her hands down the lapels of his coat. “Go. Be on your way before I cry.”

“Goodbye, Molly. Take care.”

“You too, Mycroft.”

As he got into his car he looked back up and saw Molly at her window. She gave him a little wave and he gave a nod of his head as he got in his car.

//

Mycroft had been away 23 days and every moment he wasn’t in full business mode his mind filled with thoughts of Molly.

During the day he would convince himself that he was far too old for her. She would want a family and he was as far from a family man as one could get. His work was consuming – a serious relationship with him would be simply unfair on her.

But at night memories of how she felt sleeping in his arms teased him. He replayed the parting kiss in his mind, adding various scenarios from the chaste to passionate – all filling him with longing and an ache he hadn’t known for years.

On his last night in the lumpy bed he had made up his mind. He had to prepare himself for the possibility that she, too, had been thinking about their relationship. Half a world away, she very likely had come to the realization- like the others- that he was just too big a challenge to take on.

As soon as Mycroft convinced himself that Molly could be his friend but no more, and he put any further thoughts of a future with the dear Dr. Hooper out of his mind, he fell fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Just a warning -- the next chapter might be quite short -- followed by a long one. Not quite sure yet. Enjoy!


	17. “So Molls how have you been keeping?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizing resistance was futile and more than a little thankful she had the late shift tomorrow Molly readied herself for bed, crawled between the covers and let her mind run wild.
> 
> Mycroft Holmes.
> 
> Her boyfriend.
> 
> Mycroft Holmes’s Girlfriend
> 
> Letting out another groan she scrunched her eyes closed and flipped the duvet over her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to scribblingnellie for the the suggestions and beta on this chapter!

Moments after she closed the door Molly couldn't help but move to the widow of her sitting room. From this vantage point she watched Mycroft get into his car and drive off into the London night. She didn’t move until the black car had turned the corner. 

As soon as he was well and truly gone she let out a groan, her face falling into her hands while her stomach tied itself into knots. Over the next hour Molly tried everything to calm herself down: cup of cocoa (two sips taken; the rest left), reading (couldn’t manage more than three pages) and boring Tuesday night telly (after continual channel surfing for 15 minutes she turned her set off in frustration.)

Realizing resistance was futile and more than a little thankful she had the late shift tomorrow Molly readied herself for bed, crawled between the covers and let her mind run wild.

Mycroft Holmes.

Her boyfriend.

_Mycroft Holmes’s Girlfriend_

Letting out another groan she scrunched her eyes closed and flipped the duvet over her head.

 

//

 

“So Molls how have you been keeping?” Greg set the two pint glasses on the table between them and settled into a chair as he spoke.

“Cheers,” Molly held up the glass towards Greg before she took a drink. “Good. Good.  I’m good.” Nodding Molly looked down and began to fiddle with the edge of her beer mat.

Taking a deep breath Greg took a sip of his drink as he stared across the table at the nervous woman. “There’s no sense lying to me Molly. I don’t have to be a highly trained police officer to see you are hiding something from me.”

After a deep breath, and a sip of her drink Molly continued, "It’s just-- you know-- stuff."

'Stuff' mouthed Greg. “Would this "stuff" have to do with the fact that my boys have seen Mycroft Holmes’ car parked outside your house regularly."

Molly froze and stared at Greg her glass halfway to her mouth. "Are you having me watched?" 

"Not as such but I have told a few of the cars that when they are out patrolling your area to drive down your street a little more frequently than usual. So tell me-- what gives?

Molly took a deep breath. “It’s just—after Sherlock died—I spooked myself. Convinced myself that things-- you know-- weren’t right."

She saw Greg stiffen and sit up straighter suddenly slipping into police mode."What do you mean 'not right'? Did he check? Did Holmes make sure that it was all in your imagination. Shit Molly." Greg ran his hands down his face and took a deep breath. "You should have told me. I would have--"

"Really Greg. It’s fine. A few months ago Mycroft looked around and found there was something dodgy going on with my neighbour. I had picked up on it but it wasn’t to do with me. It’s fine now. Really it's fine." Molly tried to give Greg a reassuring smile.

"If it was fine a few months ago why was his car outside your house last week?" taking a sip of his drink Greg watched Molly intently. 

"Because he comes over for dinner on Tuesday nights." Molly knew she was now being interrogated by one of Scotland Yard's finest and there was no use lying.

"Does he now?" Greg's voice became gentle and sincere, "Molly, Sherlock is gone and no matter how much you miss him he can’t be replaced. Not even by his brother."

"Greg it’s not like that." Once again playing with the beer mat Molly laughed nervously. "He is not a replacement for Sherlock." 

"Really?" Leaning back in his chair Greg looked down his nose at Molly. "You have the hots for him?"

Molly tried to be convincing as she shook her head, but the embarrassed blush threatened to give her away.

Shaking his head Greg pretended to look angry “Damn! If I had known were into older men I would have taken you out for a drink months ago!"

"Greg!" Molly giggled.

“I could maybe save up and buy one of those expensive three piece suits he wears all the time," then snapping his fingers, his face lit up,  "– I have an umbrella in my boot!" smiled Greg.

"Yea well, he doesn’t have an ex-wife he keeps taking back!"

"Ouch!" Greg leaned back with his hands on his chest like he was shot "– hit me where it hurts!"

"Or a teenage son who is taller than I am!" continued Molly with a mischievous grin. 

"Yea, okay, you’re right," sighed Greg. "All kidding aside Molly. Be careful. I don’t know Mycroft very well but I bet he is playing for keeps. And you both could get hurt very badly."

"Thanks for the advice. Now can we talk about something more interesting – is it really true you have taken Karen back yet again--?"

 

//

 

Two weeks had passed without him. She was keeping herself busy, taking on overtime, trying not to notice Mycroft wasn’t there. Or at least that is what she kept telling herself. 

Sometimes in the quiet of her flat, eating her dinner alone Molly would let her mind wonder to see if it was even possible to envision Mycroft in her life; her normal everyday life.

 

Mycroft and her brother in the pub. Nope.  

Mycroft pushing a pram. Unlikely. 

Molly sitting between a bickering Sherlock and Mycroft at Christmas dinner. Awkward. 

 

But late at night when she was just a bit too keyed up to sleep all she had to do was imagine Mycroft lying there beside her with his arm wrapped around her and Molly would feel instantly better. With a sigh she would try to get to sleep again with a head more filled with questions than answers. 

 

//

 

_Molly stretched and opened her eyes. The door to the bathroom was slightly open and she could hear him as he got ready for the day. "You did an excellent job of suturing up the knife wound last night my dear. I don't think there will be much of a scar due to your neat handiwork."_

_"Um. Great. Thanks," called Molly sleepily as she got out of bed and pulled a robe around her. "I still think you should see a doctor."_

_"My dear you are a doctor. It is now so much more convenient when I get injured, you can just sew me up at home. I hate hospitals. They are full of sick people."_

_Rolling her eyes Molly went to the window and looked out. She watched as five huge black Land Rovers pulled into the circular driveway._

_"Molly your brother rang while you were asleep. If he thinks that I am go to suffer through another afternoon watching a football match with him in the pub he is sorely mistaken. Why can't he come here? I subscribed to all of the Sky Sports channels so I do not have to sit in a sticky pub with him."_

_"I know honey. But he likes the pub atmosphere."_

_The snide comment about vaccinations her husband made under his breath was unintelligible._

_Mycroft swept out of the bathroom fully dressed and ready for work. His face lit up when he saw Molly and just as he was about to kiss her there was a knock at the door._

_“Come,” called Mycroft before two nannies marched in, each holding the hand of a small child dressed in a very smart school uniform._

_A little boy with Mycroft's intense gaze and a little girl with Molly's smile said in unison, "Good morning Mummy. Good morning Father."_

_With a proud look on his face Mycroft gave a little bow in their direction, "Good morning children. Did you sleep well?"_

_"Yes father," replied the pair._

_"Are the cars ready?" Mycroft inquired to Anthea who had now appeared._

_"Yes sir. Traffic pattern is amber and the leader of the convoy suggests pulling the departure time up by five minutes to ensure projected journey times."_

_"Alright children, you heard Auntie Anthea time for us to go. Kiss Mummy goodbye."_

_Molly bent down to receive two kisses and hugs. Standing again, Mycroft gave her a chaste peck on the cheek. "I have an afternoon meeting in Berlin, but will be home for a late supper with you. And today remember to take your panic alarm. Yesterday I found it on the hall table," his tone was gently scolding._

_Moments later Molly watched out of the window as her daughter and nanny got in the second car, son and nanny in the third and Mycroft in the fourth._

_Letting out a sigh Molly watched as the cars left the drive._

_"You know it's a security risk. He will never ride in a car with his children. He would be devastated if he caused something to happen to them," replied Anthea quietly over Molly's left shoulder._

_"I didn't know it was going to be like this Anthea."_

_"Yes you did Molly. It could never be any other way."_

 

With a sharp intake of breath Molly's eyes opened and she looked at the clock on her bedside table: 2:37am.

_Another dream._ Molly sighed. _Only a dream._ Rolling over in search of a sleep inducing position she counted to 17, the number of days he had been gone, slowly over and over again until sleep overtook her.  

 

//

 

Milk, eggs, cereal …. Molly was standing in aisle 7 of Tesco intently looking at the offers on kitchen rolls when she felt someone standing far too close to her. She turned around muttering ‘sorry’ under her breath fully expecting to see an old age pensioner also trying to read the confusing selection of prices.

Letting out a small cry, her hands flew up to her mouth when she found Anthea standing behind her. The PA waited a few moments until the initial shock of her appearance had passed.

“Why are you—is he--?” Molly found herself stammering as her mind filled with horrible images to justify why Mycroft’s PA had tracked her down in the middle of doing her grocery shopping.

_If he was fine it could have waited until I got home …_

“I have three things to tell you,” Anthea replied so quietly that Molly had to concentrate to hear over the general din of the shop. “He doesn’t know I am here. More days have passed than are remaining on his trip. And he isn’t sleeping any better than you are. Good day Molly.” With a tiny nod of her head Anthea reached out, chose a pack of kitchen roll and put it is Molly’s cart then with a smile turned and walked away.

 

//

For the first time in days Molly slept well that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Not the chapter I thought would be posted next ... but I felt we needed to see what Molly was going through while Mycroft was away. Hope you enjoyed it and I'll be back as soon as I can with the next chapter! Enjoy!


	18. He Returns

It had been a long day for Molly. Mere moments before her shift was about to end, Greg had arrived with a key witness, who had mysteriously found himself inside a body bag. 

With pleading eyes Greg had looked between her and the recently deceased Mr. Hassin. Despite her tiredness, Molly found herself giving him a resigned smile and hanging her coat back up in her office. 

By the time she toed off her shoes in her flat, she had been gone 14 hours. She was exhausted, starving and needing the loo.

The last thing on her mind was her mobile phone.

It was after gobbling a bowl of cereal, taking a shower and crawling into bed when Molly remembered it was her sister-in-law’s birthday — of course she had forgotten to send a card; a quick apologetic text before bed would have to suffice.

Sleepily, she padded through her quiet flat to her bag she had dropped just inside the door. It took a few minutes of rummaging for her phone to find it-- hiding at the bottom of course. 

Molly let out a shocked gasp when the notifications appeared. Her usual calm reserve was replaced with a pounding heart and shaking hands— she had missed seven calls from Mycroft.

Staring at the small screen casting an eerie blue glow into her otherwise dark lounge, she took a deep breath, willing her heart to stop beating so loud so she could hear herself think.

He must be home.

Looking at the call log she found three calls in quick succession just before her shift had started followed by three more calls 20 minutes after her shift should have ended.

‘I would have just been walking in the door,’ mused Molly. A final call had been made an hour ago.

With nervous excitement pooling in her stomach, she curled up in the corner of her couch. After taking a moment to compose herself, she hit the call button.

It took four rings before he picked up the phone.

“Hello?” Mycroft’s voice was heavy with sleep.

“Oh Mycroft I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you would be asleep. It’s only 9:45pm,” blurted Molly, suddenly regretting the call.

“Jetlag. Exhausted.” Mycroft yawned. 

“Shall I hang up? We can talk tomorrow.”

“No. It’s fine." She could hear him moving around; she suspected he was repositioning himself in bed. "I’m— I’m glad you called. I was concerned.” His tone was gentle and sincere. 

“Concerned about me or concerned that I was ignoring your calls?" She couldn't hide the smile from her voice as she answered.

“Both,” answered Mycroft with a small chuckle tinged with relief. “When you didn’t pick up my last call I feared you had come to your senses while I was away and had written me off for good.”

She snorted in response. “As my shift was ending, Greg needed a favour and I am a pushover. My phone was in the bottom of my bag.”

“That explains it. Where are you?” Molly could hear him shifting position again. 

“I’m sitting on my couch.” She heard him hum in response to her answer. “Now are you going to ask me what I’m wearing?”

“Is that the sort of question ‘friends’ ask?” Mycroft quickly retorted.

“Depends if said friend has just logged into his CCTV cameras. Maybe he doesn’t have to ask because he already knows the answer.”

“I deleted your camera feeds from my PC earlier this evening when you were ignoring me,” replied Mycroft dryly, eliciting a giggle from her.

“Ah! It’s been so long since I've witnessed a proper Holmes strop. I’ve quite missed it!” responded Molly playfully.

The pair fell silent for a few moments. She heard him take a purposeful deep breath, the sort that comes with a decision.

“Molly— what are you wearing?” asked Mycroft quietly and seriously.

For the second time that evening, Molly’s heart began to pound; she was sure he would be able to hear it through the phone.

“My lilac pyjamas; you know the ones,” replied Molly softly.

“Mmm. Yes. I know them. And your hair?” asked Mycroft gently.

Her mouth went dry; she was finding it was quite difficult remembering to breathe. “In a braid; put in after my shower.”

“Dr Hooper,” tutted Mycroft softly, “sitting on your couch with no robe and wet hair? You really should crawl into bed.”

“What?” softly gasped Molly.

“You heard me,” he said sternly. 

Molly uncurled herself from her spot on the couch and quietly padded back into her bedroom. Her duvet made a soft sound as she flipped it back. Her bed creaked as she crawled into it. Mycroft had been silent as she followed his instructions. 

“Okay. I’m in bed,” her voice hesitant.

“That’s better,” sighed Mycroft. His tone was soothing. “You have had a long day my dear and I do not want you catching your death of cold by sitting on the couch talking to me.”

Smiling, Molly took a deep breath, “I’m glad you’re home.”

After a moment's pause she added, “I missed you,” very quietly.

“That is a relief to hear.” Mycroft paused for a moment, then continued. “Over the last 24 days, I have tried to keep my expectations in check and to convince myself to the contrary but— you and I are no longer ‘just friends’ and I daresay we haven’t been for a long time.”

“You’re right,” replied Molly quietly taking a deep breath and snuggling further into her covers. “I too have been trying to ignore it. But I don’t think we can anymore.”

“The question becomes, what do we do now?” Mycroft’s voice had become deep and taken on husky tones.

“Well Mr Holmes,” Molly spoke with confidence, “there are many things we could do, but I’m going to insist you take me out on a proper date first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to thinkture for making it even better -- yet again! :)
> 
> Enjoy!


	19. Plans Are Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is un-betaed all errors are mine. Just needed to get this posted so we can get this story moving again!

Molly and Mycroft were sitting in a one of London’s many “trendy” coffee shops. The place was filled with mismatched chairs and bare wood tables.

“Are you going to enlighten me with your criteria for a ‘proper date’?” Mycroft looked over his over-sized coffee mug at Molly.

“Seriously, it’s after lunch. You should not be drinking so much coffee now. You’ll never sleep,” scolded Molly as she used the side of her fork to cut a bit of cake off the wedge sitting on the plate between them.

He knew the stern look he received was meant to cause him to put down his cup and comply with doctor’s orders. Instead, it stirred a pleasant feeling in his chest that someone was taking an interest in his welfare — even if he chose to ignore it.

“It is the only way I can keep my eyes open for the mineral rights conference this afternoon. This jet-lag is dire,” muttered Mycroft. “and you haven’t answered my question.”

Molly looked across the small table and shrugged her shoulders at him.

“I don’t know but I’ll know it when I see it.”

“You are remarkably unhelpful.” Taking another long sip of coffee Mycroft ignored the giggle coming from Molly.

“It’s a date Mycroft, not a state visit, I’m sure you will come up with something and it will be wonderful. Oh!” exclaimed Molly catching a look at her watch. Quickly she shoved another bite of cake into her mouth before fumbling with her coat, “I’m late— my break ends in five minutes!”

“Thanks for the cake,” Molly called over her shoulder still pulling her scarf around her neck as she raced out the coffee shop door.

With a resigned sigh and a small smile on his face Mycroft picked up the plate and finished the last of the cake.

//

“Before you go,” Mycroft hesitated not exactly knowing how to approach his question in order to get the most effective answer.

Anthea, who had been half-way out the door, turned back towards her boss, looking up from her Blackberry with an expectant look on her face.

“What constitutes a ‘proper date’?”

 _Credit to her_ Mycroft remarked to himself _she didn’t even smirk._

“Exactly who is asking?”

But she wasn’t going to make this easy on him was she.

“I am asking.”

“Who would this ‘proper date’ be with?”

“I think you know.”

“I might, but I would like to hear it from you,” Anthea’s smug look told him she was going to make him suffer before she helped him and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Dr. Molly Hooper,” Mycroft responded slowly, “obviously.”

A self-satisfied smile crossed Anthea’s face.

“A ‘proper date’ means you keep your phone in your pocket.”

Mycroft’s eyes slightly widened with shock as the colour drained from his face. “Anthea! I am horrified you would sugg-“

Anthea gave her boss a stern look.  
“That was not a euphemism. I mean— Keep— Your— Phone— In— Your— Pocket. Spend the night paying attention to her. Let me keep an eye on things. I’ll only bother you if the Trident launch codes are requested.”

It was clear by the look on her face Anthea was expecting at least a smirk from her boss in response to her offer, but Mycroft couldn’t shake his concern.

“Sir. Might I remind you, you have been on dates before.”

“Yes, but—,” hesitated Mycroft. He didn’t want to explain himself or contemplate why this particular date felt different.

“I’m sure you will think of something. Now if you will excuse me, I’ve got to get your notes ready for your dinner meeting.” Anthea returned to business mode and left Mycroft’s office.

After an agonizing 34 minutes, Mycroft’s day got significantly better when an email arrived from Anthea with a list of 17 possible “proper” date ideas.

//

Molly ran her hand down her skirt again smoothing out a wrinkle that was only in her mind. Perhaps she should have chosen the shorter skirt, or the longer dress, or the green top with the diamond pattern or—. Taking a deep breath she tried to quiet the thoughts tumbling through her head.

“It’s fine. It is going to be fine,” she whispered out loud in her empty flat. “Stop worrying. It’s no big deal. Don’t be nervous.” But it was a big deal. It was Mycroft. And she had not felt like this about anyone in a long time. “Just don’t mess this up. Please.” She pleaded with herself.

The firm tap on the door startled her and woke the butterflies in her stomach. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath before slowly walking towards the door. After smoothing her skirt one last time Molly opened her front door.

“Hi Mycroft,” smiled Molly. “You knocked— it is a special occasion.”

“Yes, well— I— ah I believe proper dates require knocking not using one's key,” replied Mycroft softly as he stepped over the threshold.

The fact Mycroft looked as nervous as she felt made Molly feel a bit better. Instead of his usual three-piece suit, Mycroft stood before her in grey trousers and black roll neck jumper

“And you have left your usual armour at home. You are being very brave tonight — your sweater looks so soft.” Without thinking, Molly reached out and ran the back of her hand down Mycroft’s chest.

“Sorry!” Her hand snapped back quickly like she had burnt herself. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to touch you. I mean I do want to touch you— but not yet— um— oh— god— why won’t I shut up?” Molly began to back away, a look of horror on her face.

Mycroft’s hand shot out towards her and gently grabbed her wrist keeping her where she was. She felt his gaze heavy upon her, his expression soft.

“It's fine. I believe given the situation we are both feeling a little out of our depths at the moment.” As his thumb stroked her wrist her whole arm began to tingle.

Molly’s heart fluttered wildly in her chest as the pair stood frozen in her entryway.

“We had best get going,” Mycroft said quietly. “Our table is booked for 7:30pm.”

“I’ll just go get my purse. Won't be a minute.” Mycroft’s grip loosened on her arm as Molly pulled away. While she moved quickly around her flat making it ready for her departure she could feel the weight of his stare. When she turned around there was a bemused look on Mycroft’s face.

“What?” asked Molly urgently hoping there was nothing tragically wrong with her outfit; visions of a trail of loo roll paper being attached to her shoe or her skirt tucked into her knickers flooded her mind.

“I don’t think I have ever seen you in heels before,” answered Mycroft as he held open Molly’s coat.  
Filled with relief Molly responded with only a small shrug of her shoulders.

“A proper date means proper shoes.” Molly gave Mycroft an impish grin as she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.

//

As his car set off to the restaurant Mycroft had a dilemma. Molly was sitting next to him chattering away, obviously still nervous. As a gentleman he should quiet her fears and tell her not to worry, it was simply a date; there was nothing to be concerned about.  
The easiest thing would be to rest his hand reassuringly on hers — except he didn’t dare.

The unintentional caress of his chest and him holding her wrist in her flat had been more than enough to make Anthea’s original comment about 'proper dates' morph from her innocent directive to suggestive euphuism and finally ending up as the evening’s mantra.

The date had started 7 minutes ago and already most of his plans for the evening were being redefined by urges that defied good sense or restraint. His composure was quickly eroding. He didn’t hear any of the words spilling out of Molly’s mouth as he watched her.

Her hair was swept up into a messy bun on top of her head exposing an expanse of neck; he longed to run his lips down its soft curve. Tonight Molly had applied makeup — not too much but just enough to make her eyes stand out. He wondered how he had not noticed the depth of Molly’s eyes before. Slowly Mycroft’s gaze travelled down to Molly’s chest—

He was brought out of his thoughts by his driver.

“Sir, there is an issue.” Their eyes met in the rearview mirror and Mycroft saw the concern instantly— a set of blue flashing lights rapidly approaching.

“Pull over Walter. Any idea why?”

“No sir.”

As the policeman approached the car Mycroft put down his window.

“May I help you officer?”

“Yes, sir. I have been instructed to pull over this vehicle. It won’t be a moment and you can be on your way sir.” The young policeman bent down further and looked in the car, giving a nod to Molly. “Ma’am.”

“Do get on with it officer, you are delaying me.”

“Inspector Lestrade has sent me sir,”

“If you will be so kind as to let Detective Inspector Lestrade know I am engaged this evening but he may reach me on my usual numbers Monday morning.”

“Apologies sir. He doesn’t want you, sir — it’s your passenger we’ve been told to bring in.”  
Mycroft’s eyes grew wide as he turned slowly to Molly. She was sitting silently on the other side of the car with an expression of shock and confusion on her face.

“Dr. Hooper, if you would be so kind as to come with me. You are needed— urgently.”

Giving a pleading look to Mycroft, Molly nodded her head to the policeman, whispered ‘okay’, and slipped out of the car.

“Good evening sir. You are free to go.” The young policeman nodded and touched the brim of his cap before returning to his squad car.

Mycroft turned in his seat and watched Molly get in the back of the police car. It did a U-turn in the middle of the road and raced off with its lights and sirens blaring.

“Walter. New Scotland Yard. Now!” barked Mycroft barely able to contain his fury.

 


	20. At NSY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Greg says a number of swear words -- consider yourself warned.
> 
> ****Huge thank you to scribblingnellie for being the Beta for this chapter!****

 

The sound of Mycroft Holmes’ determined gait echoed through the quiet evening corridors of New Scotland Yard as he made his way to Detective Inspector Lestrade's Office.

//

“Boss, Janet just called from downstairs— said dead freak's brother is on his way up.” Sally was standing in a wide-legged stance, hands on her hips, in her boss’s open doorway.

Letting out a groan Greg rubbed his face and scratched the stubble on his chin.

“Just what I fucking need,” he muttered under his breath.

“Seriously though— what’s he doing sticking his nose ‘round here?”

Greg’s posture stiffened and he unconsciously sat up straighter in his chair as he tracked the silhouette of Mycroft Holmes moving through the section of the sixth floor that Greg and his team inhabited.

“Bad enough when we had freak to deal with—“

With a sharp intake of breath Greg’s gaze settled just above Sally’s right shoulder.

“He’s right behind me isn’t he?” Sally gasped.

“Yes I am Miss Donovan,” replied Mycroft dryly. “Detective Inspector, does the general convention of not speaking ill of the dead not apply here at New Scotland Yard?”

Sally began muttering apologies while Mycroft scowled at her.

“Sally— just go!” muttered Greg brusquely, giving her a mortified glare. 

“Right boss.” Sally turned and vanished into the maze of cubicles.

Stepping into Greg’s office Mycroft shut the door purposefully behind him and stared down his nose at the Detective Inspector.

“Sorry about that Mycroft — she and Sherlock sort of rubbed each other wrong up the wrong way.” Greg gave a weak smile.

Mycroft took one step closer to Greg’s desk.

“Detective Inspector I am a reasonable man, as I believe you are, so I am going to give you an opportunity to explain yourself before I jump to any conclusions.”

Running both hands through his hair Greg let out an exasperated sigh.

“Look Mycroft I’m hip deep in a case at the moment and not in the mood to play games.”

Mycroft didn’t move; his unblinking gaze not wavering.

Taking a long look at the man standing in front of him, a frown came over Greg’s face as his pointed finger ran up and down at Mycroft.

“Why are you dressed like that? All your suits at the cleaners?”

A tinge of fear caused the hairs on the back of Greg’s neck to stand up as Mycroft took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“One of your men pulled my car over tonight.” The intensity of Mycroft’s lowered voice unnerved Greg.

“You are off your tree. Nothing to do with me.” It was difficult for Greg to keep the anger out of his voice.

“My passenger was removed and taken away.” There was a silken thread of warning in Mycroft’s voice.

“If you’re looking for your friend, anyone brought in is processed downstairs,” huffed Greg. “For the last time, whatever happened to you tonight,” lifting his chin meeting Mycroft’s gaze straight on, “it wasn’t me. Another key witness died on me tonight. I’m praying Molly finds something,” Greg muttered under his breath. 

“Ah, Dr Molly Hooper, pathologist extraordinaire,” responded Mycroft. Greg noticed a small glint in Mycroft’s eyes when he said the name.

“Yea. She’s good. Very good. If there’s a connection, she’ll find it.” With a hint of gossip in his voice Greg continued, “Apparently she was going on a date with some bloke tonight when my boys went over to get her— told them to take her to Bart’s anyway. She’ll be furious but I’ll send her some flowers. Maybe buy her a pint. She never stays mad at me for too long.” Greg flashed a cheeky grin at Mycroft whose eyes were now dark with fury.

It only took a moment before the penny dropped.

“Oh fuck,” Greg groaned as all colour drained from his face.  His hands now on his hips, Mycroft’s gaze didn’t move from Greg.

“You are the bloke.”

“Yes.”

“And it was your car Molly was in that I had my boys pull over.”

“Yes.”

“And you are dressed like this because you two were going on a date.”

“Yes.”

“Oh Christ mate I am so sorry. I had no idea it was you. Really— no idea. It’s just— this case is driving me up the wall,” His voice was resigned as Greg gritted his teeth and buried his head in his hands. He didn’t put up a fight when he felt Mycroft's gaze deducing him. There was nothing to hide --no devious plan to disrupt Mycroft's evening. It had been an honest mistake. After a few moments, the tension in the air dissipated. 

“Case?” asked Mycroft with a hit of curiosity in his voice.

“Yea, it’s a great big mess. Different cells and locations— all over the country. Fuck I miss Sherlock.” Greg’s fist’s slammed into his desk. “If he were here he would stroll into the evidence room, take a casual glace at everything and tell me it the Polish cleaning lady in Cornwall who was the mastermind. What I wouldn’t give for 15 minutes with him right now.” Slumping back in his chair Greg closed his eyes with a groan.

 “Take me to the evidence room.”

“What?” Greg opened his eyes and was confused to find Mycroft had removed his coat, folded it in half and draped it over his arm. 

“I said take me to the evidence room. I don’t think you need reminding my security clearance is above yours so there is no issue with me being allowed access.”

“No, it’s just— why?”

“Well, Gregory, I now find myself with a free evening and you are in need of assistance. If you are struggling with something my brother could decipher in 15 minutes I dare say it will take me six. Now if you will be so good as to explain to me on the way what you know so far—“ Mycroft opened the door and held it open for Greg.

 

//

 

There was no question— Greg was very pleased.  He stood in front of the evidence wall; hands on his hips, a broad smile on his face.

 

"Newcastle just rang. You were right. The boys just picked up our dear friend Mr Green and his laptop containing all the evidence needed to lock the whole lot of them up for a very long time. Thanks mate. It would have taken me a month of Sundays to make the link between the butcher in Farnham and the newsagent in Scunthorpe." 

 

"My pleasure," replied Mycroft sincerely. Rising from the hard, straight-backed chair he stretched, his back cracking in three places; a worrying sound, but it certainly made moving significantly easier. 

 

Casually he picked up the three coffee cups littering the table; throwing them away in the bin. 

  
Much as he was loathe to admit, the past few hours were not at all unpleasant. The dear Inspector had been correct. The web of sham companies covering up all manner of vile actions was very complex; it had taken him four hours to unravel — making it highly improbable NSY could have made such progress in as many months.

  

Putting on his jacket Mycroft turned towards Lestrade.

 

"Should you find yourself faced with a similar situation in the future please do not hesitate to contact me. I can not be as involved with your department as my brother was--" Mycroft hesitated as if lost in a memory. "You were good to him and I am happy to repay the favour when the need arises." 

 

"From now on though, I'll try to keep it to office hours," Greg chuckled gently. 

 

"Much appreciated." Deep inside his coat pocket Mycroft’s phone sounded an alert. Pulling it out it was impossible to keep a small smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth.  “It seems Dr Hooper has also concluded her investigations this evening, therefore, I shall bid you good evening Gregory."

 

Having successfully completed the puzzle given to him, Mycroft’s mind was already onto other things including how to salvage the few precious moments of his evening with Molly. He was half-way out the door, deep in thought when Greg called to him nervously.

 

"Hey Holmes, one more thing."

 

Turning back to face Greg Mycroft's left eyebrow flicked up questioningly. It was clear Greg's confidence had dissolved as his eyes flicked around the room before he found his courage and met Mycroft's gaze.

 

"Be good to her, okay?"

 

Mycroft remained silent-- motionless-- as he waited for Greg to continue.   The DI's arms were now nervously crossed in front of him, as he rocked on his heels. 

 

"It's just-- she's spent a lot of years being overlooked by that sod of a brother of yours and-- well, she deserves better than having her heart broken by another Holmes."

 

"I have no intention of causing Dr Hooper any distress." Standing squarely in front of Greg, Mycroft minutely shook his head. 

 

"None of us ever do mate. Just-- take it slow; nice and easy." Holding both hands up, palms open, Greg gave a small push of the air in front of him.  "Make sure she knows what she is letting herself in for. I don't want to see her hurt." 

 

Mycroft's gaze hardened. "I could almost believe you are threatening me Detective Inspector."

 

"No threats yet mate. Just letting you know Molly has friends watching out for her."

 

"Is my lecture over?"

 

"Yea. I think you get it." Greg gave Mycroft a broad grin lightening the mood of the room considerably.

 

With a withering glance Mycroft left Greg chuckling to help himself in the evidence room. 

//

Molly unceremoniously stuffed her date outfit into the wrinkled plastic carrier bag she found at the bottom of her locker. After her shower she had put on the over-sized t-shirt and leggings kept in her locker for emergencies — just like tonight. She made a mental note to buy a pair of cheap trainers to also keep in her locker. Tonight she was going to look a right fool walking home her heels but she had no choice.

Taking a deep breath Molly fished her phone out of her bag. Her heart sank when she turned it on to find no notifications. She had thought there would be at least one call or text from Mycroft asking her to get in touch when she finished.

"Probably better it ended before it began really," Molly muttered to herself as she made the final check for her Oyster card before picking up the carrier bag and leaving the staff locker room.

She was so lost in her own thoughts as she walked down the corridor— trying to decide if she should text Mycroft or just give up completely that she was startled when a man cleared his throat to get her attention.

Looking up Molly was momentarily stunned into silence. There stood Mycroft, with a plaid picnic blanket hanging over his arm, a pair of canvass flats in one hand and a travel mug in the other.

“Oh, Mycroft,” gushed Molly as she walked back to the gently smiling man. “Is it too early to express my undying love for you?” Molly was slipping off her shoes with a groan, taking the shoes he held out to her and slipping them on. “My feet are killing me.”

“I suggest it would be more than slightly premature but given the circumstances,” Mycroft was busy swirling the blanket around Molly’s shoulders, “relatively understandable.” His expression indicated he was very pleased with himself.

Taking a sip from the travel mug Molly let out a happy sigh. “It’s broth! So good—“ She  immediately took another gulp. 

“As you missed dinner I figured you must be famished by now,” Mycroft laid his hand on the small of Molly’s back as they began walking their steps echoing through the empty corridor. “Let’s get you home.”


End file.
